


Got Your Back

by Prialee



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prialee/pseuds/Prialee
Summary: Jonny wonders whether Patrick remembers the fights from way back when. The yelling until their voices were raw. Patrick throwing empty water bottles at Jonny’s head when he was sleeping. Jonny coming at Patrick with a pillow and threatening to punch his lights out when he stumbled in drunk at four in the morning. The “I hate yous” and “get out of my lifes.” How it all escalated and flipped around, eventually leading to this one moment. Skin on skin. Breath on breath. Two people who once tried to abolish one another and now break apart at the mere idea of living without each other.This is based on the movie 50/50, which is based on a true story.  You do not have to see the movie to understand this story.NO CHARACTER DEATH





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the movie 50/50, which is based on a true story. You do not have to see the movie to understand this story.
> 
> A lot happens in this fic, but it’s more about Jonny and Patrick’s relationship and its progression than about the illness itself. There is nothing too graphic or squicky going on here medically and please understand that I do not have a medical background so while I did my best, it’s entirely possible not everything lines up perfectly. Jonny and Patrick are both 26 and are best friends who met in their freshman year of University and now share a Chicago apartment together. Jonny’s finishing law school and Kaner’s an MRI technician.

 

 

“I’m eight minutes late, Kaner.”

Patrick pauses brushing his teeth to smile around a mouth full of frothy toothpaste. “No. You’re not.”

Jonny sighs, rolls his eyes as dramatically as he can without it hurting. The door frame is digging into his already aching back and that, along with today’s morning theatrics—though expected at least three out of five work days—is wearing down his already thin patience. “I will be by the time we get there! Can you please hurry the fuck up?”

“You know,” Patrick mumbles, then spits into the sink so he can yell down the hall at Jonny. “If you had your own car and could drive yourself to work. You could be eight minutes _early_ every day.”

“If we had more than one parking spot, I would! The compromise of letting you keep your car and have the spot was that you drive me to work every day,” Jonny yells back emphatically. He can feel his blood pressure rising and nothing about that is okay prior to eight am or before he’s had at least three cups of coffee. “Can you pleeeeeease get a fucking move on so I don’t get fired.”

Patrick snorts. “Like they’d ever fire your over-achieving, gigantic ass.” He strides right past Jonny and out the door, swinging his keys around his index finger. “Let’s roll,” he calls over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin.

Jonny shakes his head and locks the door.

***

“We’re stopping for coffee,” Patrick informs Jonny about halfway through the drive.

“No! Pat, seriously, I’m so late. Please, just drop me off and get coffee on the way to the hospital.”

“Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for you. You look terrible, man. Did Kelsey keep you up all night? Those are some Grade A bags you’re sporting under your eyes this fine morning. Were you guys doing some tantric, kumbaya shit? ‘Cause I didn’t hear any good old-fashioned headboard slamming coming through the wall. You should really save those crazy hipster shenanigans for the weekend.”

Jonny runs a hand over his face, breathes in and out slowly. He hadn’t slept well the night before, mainly because by the time he took a painkiller it was too late, and then there was a deep throb in his lower back he couldn’t shake for the rest of the night. “Are you done?”

Patrick just smiles, flashing his dimples and that stupid little gap between his two front teeth that, somehow, chicks find endearing. So, yes, he’s done.

“Kelsey went to her place last night before you came home. She has a long day today and she wanted to be closer to work. So, no, fuck off. And stop listening through the wall.”

“Like I have a choice,” Patrick grumbles, pulling into the coffee shop and parking the car near the entrance.

“Seriously, Kaner?” The clock on the dash reads 8:03. He’s three minutes late and he’s not even close to walking through the doors to his 20th floor office. It’s like his anxiety is Patrick’s fuel.

“You need some help for those.” Patrick draws air circles in front of Jonny’s eyes. “Let’s get you caffeinated!”

***

It’s past 8:30 by the time Jonny finally gets home that night. He went straight from work to school for four hours of lectures. Working and finishing law school might make him stronger in the long run, but it’s days like these when he feels like it will kill him. Normally he doesn’t mind taking the bus home but it had started snowing heavily around noon and the buses were all delayed, packed with people, and the ride took twice as long by the time he finally did get on.

He ran far past exhausted three hours ago and now he just wants to crash. The only small consolation on this Thursday night is the smell that greets him when he opens the door to their apartment. Patrick doesn’t cook that often, and usually it’s just a bunch of things thrown into a crock pot, but somehow, it’s always the best thing Jonny’s ever tasted. Or maybe it’s just because he’s always starving when he gets home and heated cat food would taste good.

Jonny tosses his keys on the counter and eyes the crock pot. The underside of the lid is covered in condensation so he can’t see through but he guesses it’s some sort of beef stew.

“Please tell me this is ready to eat.”

Patrick’s head pops up over the top of the couch, his hair is an unrestrained mess of frizzy blond curls, probably from wearing a hat in the snow. “Help yourself,” he says with a smile that Jonny can’t help but return.

Jonny fills a giant soup bowl with the beefy goodness, his mouth watering as he walks to the couch. He shoves Patrick’s feet off of the cushions so he can sit in his usual spot and starts shoveling the food into his mouth as soon as he’s seated. He should probably pause to chew more. He usually does, especially in front of people. Patrick’s not people, though.

“Uh…”

Jonny looks over at Patrick, who’s staring at him amusedly. “Wha?” he says around a mouthful of stew.

“Did you eat at all today?”

It’s sad that Jonny actually has to think about that. But yes, he did grab a very quick lunch in a rare 15-minute window of free time. He swallows this time before answering. “Uh huh. But this is so good.”

Patrick rubs a hand over his puffed-out chest and leans back into the cushions. “I should have been a chef.”

“Sure,” Jonny agrees. He's enjoying his meal far too much to put forth any sort of argument. “Considering a career change already? Nothing exciting happen in MRI room 1 today?”

Patrick sighs, rolls his head across the back of the couch cushion so that he can look at Jonny instead of the television. “I wish for once someone would come in with something truly interesting. You know, something that I see on the screen and say, ‘Oh my god.’ Like today, this nice old lady came in with this massive goiter.” Jonny grimaces but Patrick doesn’t seem at all bothered by it. He never winces and looks away when something gory is on tv, he never once thought that all of Jonny’s food issues were weird or gross, he just says, _“The human body, man. A truly fucked up organism.”_ “Yeah, the thing was huge so I got a little excited, you know? Are we going to see her long lost twin in there are something?” Jonny gives Patrick a sideways glare for that. “Ok, so hopes weren’t high for a tiny neck twin but I thought there had to be something interesting in there. _Nothing_. Nothing, Jonny. How can something so obnoxious be so…empty?”

Jonny’s glaring harder now.

“Shut up, don’t say it. I walked right into that one. I’m just saying, everything’s so run of the mill, day in and out.” He’s whining now, and all Jonny can think is he would give his left arm right now to have a run of the mill paying job that only requires him 8 hours a day. “I just want that one in a million case to walk through the door, you know?”

“Maybe an adrenaline junky like yourself shouldn’t have chosen a job like, oh I don’t know, MRI tech.”

“It’s going to happen. One day I’ll get my one in a million. Write papers on it. Get famous. Go to the Grammy’s.”

“What exactly is it you think you do?”

“Fuck off.”

Jonny puts his spoon down and reaches into his pocket to pull out the tie he had stuffed in there after work and before school. He shakes it out but it’s kinked beyond help and one end actually winds up in what remains of his dinner.

“You’re a Neanderthal.”

Jonny scoffs at that. “Please. Have you looked in the mirror today? You look like a mad-scientist crack head.”

“Crack head?!”

“Kaner, you have one sock on and your shirt is torn and I actually think it’s on inside out. Wait, let me rephrase that. _My_ shirt is torn and on inside out.”

“I’m in my own home. I’m allowed to be comfortable. Besides,” he says, wiggling his bare foot, “I stepped in a melted snow puddle by the door while putting away _your_ shit, you fucking slob.”

It’s true, as much as Patrick looks like a hot mess 95% of the time, he is fastidious about cleanliness and keeps his room and their shared space tidy. Jonny, on the other hand, always looks put together but his room looks like someone trashed the place while searching for a sensitive piece of information.

Jonny squints at Patrick’s remaining socked foot. “Were you wearing my socks, too? Do you have _any_ of your own clothes?”

Patrick pulls off the sock and whips it at Jonny’s temple.

The nearly empty bowl of stew barely makes it onto the coffee table before they’re launching at each other, throwing light punches that might, if they hit just the right spot, leave the tiniest bruises. Jonny is bigger but Patrick is faster and while he thinks he has him pinned in a headlock, Patrick manages to loop his leg behind Jonny’s knee and flip them both over. The couch cushions are soft but their combined weight flopping down at once makes the furniture creak in protest and all of Jonny’s breath leaves his lungs when Patrick’s weight crashes down heavily across his back.

“Ha! Doesn’t matter how much time you spend in that hippy gym, Jonny. I will always come out on top!”

Jonny’s a little dizzy for a second, and his back, as has become the norm over the past several months, is not thrilled to do…well…anything, but this is a new kind of searing pain that sends him for a loop.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. As much as we both know I’m gonna win, you’ve got to at least put up a little bit of a fight.”

Jonny huffs out small laugh into the couch cushions under his face. Patrick may be intolerable sometimes but he’s never boring to be around. Twenty minutes ago, Jonny didn’t think he had the energy to walk another 50 feet. And yet somehow Patrick has managed to coax him into a wrestling match that, really, Jonny wants no part of at the moment.

“Okay, asshole, get off. You’re hurting me.” Jonny says flicking at Patrick with a hand behind his back.

“You’re so delicate,” Patrick teases, but he does get off. However, not without kneeling right into Jonny’s lower back, where all his pain seems to come from these days.

It’s involuntary, the yelp Jonny lets out, and he would take it back a million times over if he could because he knows, _he knows_ , that Patrick is going to have something to say about it. A lot to say about it, actually.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was my tiny, elf-like form too much for your precious little body?”

Okay, maybe Jonny deserved that. He had, after all, called Patrick a “demented circus elf” yesterday. Why? He can’t remember.

Jonny huffs out a laugh, but he can’t think of a comeback when waves of pain are still spreading up his spine and across is neck.

“Are you going to get up sometime today?”

“Yeah,” Jonny finally grumbles, getting his elbows underneath himself and pushing himself up with a grimace. Okay, this is worse than it has been.

“You really need to get that checked out, man. I mean, if my ‘baby limbs’ can cause you that much pain you’ve got some serious issues.”

“Hah. Baby limbs,” Jonny says, crawling over to his side of the couch again to resume eating his dinner. “That was a good one.”

“That was a horrible one. _You_ ,” Patrick points at Jonny. “You are horrible.”

“I did,” Jonny says. “Get it checked out. I have an MRI on Tuesday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have made sure I’m working that day. Get you in nice and fast.”

“Yeah, that’s just what I want. You locking me inside a tomb-like cell for an hour longer than I have to be in there…”

“You’re no fun. And I wouldn’t do that. I might whisper sweet nothings into your ear through the speaker the whole time.”

“ _Do you_ work next Tuesday morning?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick shrugs. “Probably.”

Jonny shakes his head. “You’re such a mess.”

“Yeah. And you’re a dick. I’ve accepted it. You should move on, too.”

***

It’s really no surprise that Kelsey doesn’t really like Patrick. She likes Jonny after all, and Jonny and Patrick couldn’t be more different if they tried. If Jonny stopped to think about it, it’s kind of weird that he and Patrick even tolerate, let alone like, each other. They didn’t really, at first. Actually, they hated each other when they first met as assigned roommates in their freshman year while doing their undergrads at Northwestern.

They’ve since grown up quite a bit and both of them have leveled out and Jonny really can’t imagine not living with Patrick. When Patrick got his first real, full-time job as an MRI tech out of school a year and a half ago, Jonny had gotten himself so worked up by the idea that Patrick would want to move out and get his own place that he’d given himself an ulcer. He never told Patrick that. Patrick knew about the ulcer, of course, it’s obvious when the person you spend the most time with in the world starts to rapidly drop weight and won’t eat, but Jonny blamed it on school and other shit.

When he finally worked up the nerve to ask Patrick whether he was planning on getting his own place now that he’d be making actual, real money (at least one of them was), Patrick had paused the video game and stared Jonny right in the eyes and said, “Do you want me to leave?”

“God, no!” Jonny had sputtered back.

Patrick had shrugged and resumed the game. “Good. I hate moving.”

And that had been that.

Kelsey works at the forensics lab in the same hospital where Patrick works. Jonny met her at a staff Christmas party Patrick had dragged him along to. Patrick had wandered off with a nurse from the third floor he had been dating and Jonny had been left to entertain himself. He’s social enough—now—that he wasn’t really that bothered. And then when Kelsey introduced herself, they hit it off immediately. Turns out they both go to the same yoga class on Saturday mornings. They both frequent the juice bar near Jonny and Patrick’s apartment, and she loves to do most of the things that Jonny loves to do. It was instant chemistry. Except every time she and Patrick are in the same room together, they both bristle. It’s like two of the same magnets trying to work around each other.

“He makes me uncomfortable,” Kelsey had told Jonny one night when they were getting ready for bed.

“What? Why?”

“The other night when I came over late, he was sharpening his own skates in the living room while watching some pretty raunchy porn, Jon. Does that not register as weird to you?”

Jonny had laughed out loud and then stopped when Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Okay. Sorry. I guess I’m just used to Kaner. He thinks we’re weird too, you know?”

“Why? Because we eat a balanced diet? Because we do yoga and pilates? Because we care about our bodies?”

“Well…yeah. It’s his version of weird.”

Kelsey had looked unimpressed so Jonny crawled forward on the bed and gently put his hand over her arms, they fell from the defensive position across her chest. “I know he’s not like us but he’s my best friend. I’ll talk to him about doing weird shit when you’re around, okay?”

That seemed to do the trick for a while. But Jonny could tell that Patrick never trusted her and he never had anything nice to say about her even if he never really said anything bad about her either. It made for some awkward evenings but Jonny always hoped they’d find something to connect over and work it out.

Which is why he has invited Kelsey to come skate with them this afternoon. Jonny and Patrick have one day off that coincides every week and that’s Saturday. Very rarely do they let a Saturday go by without skating somewhere (outdoors in the winter, indoors in the summer) and playing some serious—maybe too serious—one on one. It’s their thing, and it goes without saying, which is why Patrick is more than a little surprised when Kelsey shows up around noon with her skates in hand.

She tiptoes to give Jonny a kiss then gives a little wave to Patrick, who’s sitting on the bench by the door tying his boots. His eyebrows disappear under the hat that’s already pulled down low over his forehead. “Oh! Hey, Kelsey.”

Jonny knows he’s going to pay for this later, from both of them, but if he had told Patrick that Kelsey was coming it would have been way too much of a fight. He won’t argue in front of her so having her just show up with her skates, ready to roll, was really the only way to make this happen.

“You guys ready?” Jonny asks. He grabs his stick from behind the coat rack, throws his bag over his shoulder and guides Kelsey back out the door with a hand on her lower back.

As they’re walking down the hall towards the elevator, Jonny’s knees nearly buckle when Patrick jabs his stick up in behind them. He stumbles forward into Kelsey.

“You okay?” she asks, glancing backwards.

Jonny smiles briefly. “Yep. Just clumsy.”

Behind him Patrick snickers.

***

Skating starts off just fine. Kelsey took figure skating lessons up until she was 16 so she’s more than capable of keeping up with them. Patrick, to his credit, doesn’t completely ignore her or continue to be bitter that Jonny has ruined their Saturday tradition by inviting his girlfriend along, but that’s Patrick. He’s good at rolling with the punches.  
Another family is sharing the ice with them but they’re circling around one end of the rink, so Jonny figures it’s a good time to break out a puck and practice some shots.

He and Patrick find their rhythm quickly, exchanging short, quick passes as they work their way from center ice to below the goal line and back again. Kelsey continues to skate around on her own, practicing some spins she said she hasn’t done in “forever” so Jonny doesn’t feel too guilty ignoring her.

“Okay, let’s see what you’re made of Toes.” Jonny slashes him lightly across his skates for that one. “Pick a corner and hit it.”

“From here?” Jonny asks incredulously. They’re hovering around center ice. He’d be lucky to hit the net.

“Do you need me to show you how it’s done?”

“You show me enough,” Jonny grumbles. He works his blade back and forth over the puck then lays into a slap shot that misses by about a foot. Only problem is it ricochets off a stanchion and right towards Kelsey.

She yelps when the puck skitters between her feet, tripping her enough that she stumbles and falls pretty harmlessly onto her backside.

“Oh boy…” Patrick mutters.

“Guys!” she yells. The family at the other end of the ice all stop and look towards them. Jonny grits his teeth.

“Shit,” he says, skating over quickly to help her up. He’s brushing the snow off her pants and apologizing profusely when another shot whizzes towards the net, this time catching the top corner and falling coming to rest harmlessly inside.

“Seriously?” she yells towards Patrick, who actually glances over his shoulder to see if Kelsey is really yelling at him.

“What?” he asks, and Jonny can tell he is genuinely confused.

“Someone is going to get hurt, that’s what!”

Patrick really looks lost now. “Oh, I won’t hit you. I’m a much better shot than him,” he says earnestly, pointing his stick at Jonny.

Jonny can sense that things are about to get out of control and he really just wanted this to be something fun that the three of them could do together for once. Obviously, he overshot.

“Let’s just move closer to the net and take some snap shots, yeah?” Jonny shouts back to Patrick, hoping his friend will get the hint.

“Actually,” Kelsey says, sidling into Jonny, “I’m getting kind of cold. And my but hurts now. Do you think we could call it a day?” She’s staring up at him now with big, round, brown eyes and he knows he can’t say no, even though he really, really wants to. Patrick is going to kill him. They’ve barely spent 20 minutes out here. Usually they skate for over an hour.

“Um…” Jonny glances over at Patrick who couldn’t have possibly heard what she just said but he must have his suspicions because he smiles sardonically and rolls his eyes, skating a small circle away from them.

“Yeah,” Jonny stutters, turning back to Kelsey. “Yeah, of course. Let me just gather this stuff up, okay?”

She kisses him on the cheek and skates away towards the benches to take off her skates.

Jonny makes his way over to Patrick to explain and apologize and grovel for forgiveness but his friend is already scooping up the puck and the mini pylons they had brought along with them. “I’m sorry, man,” Jonny finally says when he catches up to him.

Patrick gives him a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and a quick lift of his eyebrows.

Yeah, Jonny is going to have to cook dinner tonight for sure.

***

Jonny’s halfway through an article on how to grow your own herb garden on balcony walls of apartment buildings—and actually somewhat interested in this doozy from, he checks the front cover, 2008—when a familiar voice calls his name. Well…sort of.

“Jonathan… Tow-ehs?”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to call Patrick a multitude of truly awful, inappropriate names in the middle of the crowded waiting room, especially when he’s standing there smiling innocently with his wildly unkempt hair and his stupid blue scrubs that match his stupid eyes.

Jonny settles for shaking his head with a smile as he approaches. “How are you today?” Patrick asks conversationally.

As soon as the door closes behind them leaving them alone in the hallway leading to the radiation department, Jonny growls, “Say my name like that one more time and I will put your bed on the balcony again.”

Patrick shrugs. “Worth it.”

They stop in front of a small line of change rooms with curtains for doors. Patrick holds one open. “Strip. Leave your magnet-free underwear on. I’m assuming you haven’t gotten any raunchy new piercings that I don’t know about?”

Jonny scowls at him. Patrick laughs. “Gotta ask!”

“Here’s a gown. You can leave your socks on. It’s cold in there. You’ll thank me.”

Jonny nods. “Got it.”

Jonny feels more than a little vulnerable when he leaves the change room. The gown is shorter than he would like, and he wants to ask Patrick if he did that on purpose but he realizes quickly, when Patrick doesn’t point and laugh as soon as he sees him, that they are all that size.

They deposit Jonny’s belongings in a locker and then Patrick tells Jonny to follow him “to his lair.”

When they enter the room, a middle-aged woman with a nice smile greets Jonny and says, “You must be Patrick’s friend. I’m Debbie. Nice to meet you.” Jonny shakes her hand and reciprocates the sentiment. He hears a lot about Debbie and her three kids, and her husband who’s obsessed with the Blackhawks. _“Their whole house is painted red, black and white, Jonny. I mean, I like the team as much as you do but that’s fucking weird!”_

“Don’t think Debbie’s going to save you from listening to the sweet voice of the one and only Patrick Kane, crooning some classics during this very professional MRI.”  
Debbie smiles and smacks Patrick on the shoulder.

They get Jonny settled and strapped into what feels like a bobsled to hell, then they leave the room and he slides into the tube.  No sooner does the machine stop moving that Patrick's voice comes through the speaker in the machine, singing loudly. He doesn’t sing the actual lyrics though. No, of course not. He sings about how long each test is going to take, what they’re scanning, and more than once, when Jonny laughs out loud, to “sit fucking still, already.”

This goes on for about 10 minutes and then it stops suddenly, right in the middle of a rousing rendition of Sweet Home Alabama that Patrick had aptly named, “Scanning Jonny’s thoracic spine.”

Then it’s just the ridiculously loud MRI machine chugging off some interesting rhythms without Patrick’s verbal accompaniment for the next 25 minutes.

***

Jonny has never been so happy to be sitting up again. He doesn’t consider himself claustrophobic but that thing was essentially a tomb.

He’s surprised that it’s Debbie who comes back into the room first. She asks how he’s doing. Unstraps his feet and hovers as he gets stands. “Good, thanks,” Jonny says, stretching out his sore back. It never really helps but he always has to try.

Through the glass he can see Patrick still in his booth, staring down at a screen, typing something, then he looks up and catches Jonny’s eye. There’s a couple seconds where Patrick’s face does, well…it does nothing. Which is weird because Patrick’s always doing something with his face. Licking his lips, biting his nails, winking, giving Jonny a half-smile that he usually reserves for when he’s trying to get his way. After a few seconds he smiles broadly and marches towards the door.

“You did good, bud. Nice and still.”

“Um…thanks,” Jonny says. He yawns to pop his ears. That machine was loud. “I hate to say it but I prefer your singing to that machine’s droning.”

Patrick just smiles down at his feet, bites at his bottom lip. He fiddles with the badge that’s attached to the hem of his shirt. When he looks back up it’s not at Jonny but a random spot in a far corner near the ceiling.  Jonny can see that Patrick’s eyes are watery and something’s clearly wrong.

“Are you okay?” Jonny asks quietly, even though Debbie is showing them zero attention while getting the bed set up for the next patient.

Patrick nods abruptly, snapping back to Jonny, and plasters on the fakest, closed-mouth smile Jonny has ever seen. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m good.”

Jonny is completely unconvinced but he follows Patrick back out into the change area when he starts to walk away.

Once Jonny has his belongings back in his hands, he glances around to make sure they’re alone and then grabs Patrick by the shoulder, forcing them to face each other. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen? Did someone call you while I was in there? Is everyone okay?”

That seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, because the tears that were pooling in Patrick’s bloodshot eyes start to stream down his cheeks.  Instinctively, Jonny grabs him into a hug. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve cried on each other’s shoulders. More often it’s Patrick than Jonny, but still…

“Hey, c’mon,” Jonny says softly into Patrick’s ear. “You can tell me. What’s going on?”

Patrick just clings back harder and Jonny can feel the wetness seeping through the thin gown from where he’s pressing his face into Jonny’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” he finally whispers.

“Sure you can. We tell each other everything. A lot of shit I really don’t want to know, too.”

Patrick gives a short, wet laugh at that. But he shakes his head slowly.

And then Jonny says, “Oh.”

A wave of heat sweeps from his chest out through the rest of his body. His legs wobble slightly. He’s a little dizzy. The bright overhead lights start to blur.

“Oh shit,” he says again. “It’s me.”


	2. Chapter 2

***

The whole visit is a blur. Jonny doesn’t process much of anything that’s said after the word “cancer.” Patrick never said it. He didn’t say much at all after the MRI, really. Jonny had to coax it out of him gradually, but other than the word “tumors,” which was enough to send a wave of shock through Jonny’s entire body, Patrick wouldn’t say or commit to anything else.

_“I can’t tell anything else from those images. You have tumors along your spine. They could be benign. They might be. I mean, they probably are… I would tell you if I knew. You’ll get a biopsy, it’ll come back negative, and then you’ll have the tumors removed and you’ll be fine.”_

Jonny wanted to believe him, he really did, but it was difficult when Patrick kept choking back tears.

He knows he should be listening to the doctor now, taking notes, asking questions, but he can’t fully expand his lungs and his head is starting to swim.

“Mr. Toews? Are you alright?”

Jonny focuses on making his brain send a signal to his lungs to inhale. He draws in a loud, shaky breath and almost chokes when his dry throat starts to close up. Still, he manages to croak, “Yeah.”

That seems to be enough for the doctor to continue talking. Jonny only catches fragments of long sentences, buzz words that somehow make it through the fog.

_Large tumors_

_Very rare_

_Connective tissue around the nerves_

_Chemotherapy_

_Surgery if treatment doesn’t work_

Jonny keeps nodding after each point. He absorbs little to nothing.

Finally, the doctor hands him a file folder.

“There’s a lot of information in there for you. Read it over and the next time you come in, let me know if you have any questions. There’s a contact in there to set up your first chemotherapy treatment. Please do that soon.”

Jonny grips the folder tightly. It’s almost an inch thick. Hi sweaty fingers are leaving imprints across the top. “Okay. Um, thanks.”

The doctor smiles sympathetically. “You’re in good hands, Jonathan. We’re going to do everything we can for you.”

Jonny tries his best to look grateful but all he feels is deep-seeded dread.

When he steps out of the hospital he falls back against the brick wall, sliding down into a crouch. He rubs the balls of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars.

He should have paid better attention in there. He should have asked more questions. The panic is building again, sweat beading along his hairline. He looks at the folder the doctor gave him and decides that he can’t go back to work today. He pulls out his phone and his thumb hovers back and forth from Kelsey to Patrick at the top of his text list.

He pulls up Patrick.

_I’m taking the rest of the day off. Going home. You don’t have to pick me up later._

He closes the conversation and pulls up Kelsey. He starts the text three times over and then settles for:

_I need to talk to you. Let me know when you can come over._

 

***

 

As soon as Jonny gets home he drops the folder onto his desk next to his laptop, pulls up a chair and starts to read and research. Most of the information is generic, but as he reads on he recognizes some of the words from the doctor’s office: Neurilemomas, 2.5% cancerous, nerve sheeth, 50% survival rate…

Jonny jumps when he hears the door to the apartment open. He glances at the clock on the bottom of his laptop screen.

_3:55_

His first thought was Kelsey must have really taken off of work to come over to see how his appointment went. He shakes off the idea when he realizes he never even told her he came home afterwards.

Then there’s Patrick in the entrance to the living room, still in his scrubs, breathing heavily. He always takes off his scrubs before leaving work. He should still be _at_ work.

“What did the doctor say?” he asks. Not, “hello.” Not, “how are you?”

Jonny tries to answer the question. He really does. He thinks about how to answer it accurately. He can’t, though. He doesn’t know enough. What did the doctor say? It was only the most important conversation of his life and he wasn’t listening.

It’s getting heard to breathe. Like all the air in the room is too thick and heavy. His eyes are stinging and it’s all he can do to choke out, “I can’t remember!” A hurricane of hysteria is swirling him up and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sit here much longer. He gulps in too much air at once and has to exhale the excess far too quickly, causing the whole cycle to repeat itself. His heart is beating in his ears.

Patrick comes closer and leans over Jonny’s shoulder, taking in the webMD page Jonny has up on the screen.

Jonny wonders if Patrick can hear his heart pounding. “My odds are--”

“Oh no, no, no!” Patrick cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. He reaches around Jonny and flips the laptop shut. Jonny’s chair is suddenly spun completely around until they’re facing each other. Patrick crouches down so that they’re eyes are at the same level and says slowly and deliberately, “Stop reading this shit. You. Will. Beat. This.” Patrick’s practically spitting the words at him through clenched teeth and it forces Jonny back into the moment, his heart rate slowly slightly. “You’re the strongest person I know. Don’t let other people’s stats determine your outcome.”

Jonny just stares back blankly for a minute. He wants to look away, but it’s hard to focus on anything when Patrick’s determined face is just inches from his own.

So he nods jerkily. Patrick leans back a bit but doesn’t lose eye contact.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Patrick says slowly. “You and I are going to play video games for the rest of the day. We’re going to have a few beers and you,” he points right at Jonny's nose, “are going to promise me you’re not going to think about this until tomorrow.”

Jonny wants to tell him that that’s impossible. That he can’t make himself not think about the fact that he might die in a few months.

“I told you to stop thinking about it,” Patrick barks at him, snapping Jonny back to the moment.

Patrick’s not going to take no for an answer and it’s not like Jonny wants to sit in front of the computer all night and let his thoughts spiral out of control. “Okay,” he says. His body releases a shaky, involuntary sigh. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

And they do just that. Okay, maybe they have more than a few beers, something that Jonny would never do on a Thursday night, but he’s never been told he has cancer before so he figures it’s a wash. They laugh and argue and wrestle over what to eat for dinner.

Patrick was right.

The next morning Jonny wakes up determined, angry, and a little hungover. None of yesterday’s panic-stricken hysteria remains. Instead of worry, there’s a bitter taste in his mouth that makes him want to fight. Like he’s just been on the receiving end of the biggest injustice the universe could possibly dole out and it’s up to him to make it right.

Patrick was right.

He will beat this. He can’t afford to believe anything else.

***

Jonny asks Patrick not to be at home when he talks to Kelsey. They’re strangely anxious around each other and this is going to be hard enough as it is. It’s after dinner when she arrives and she’s excited to tell him about a job opportunity in her department that she has applied for. He lets her talk but he’s not really hearing her. He normally prides himself on being a good listener, but all he can think about is how she’s going to react when he doles out the news.

When she appears to be done with her story--he can’t say for sure as he wasn’t following--he steels himself and seizes the opportunity.

“So, I had that doctor’s appointment yesterday,” he starts nervously.

“Oh, right! I’m so sorry. I forgot all about that. Did they say what’s wrong with your back?”

He never told her about the MRI or the biopsy. He only mentioned that he was getting some tests done and the doctor wanted to see him yesterday to talk about the results.

She grabs his hand and links their fingers together in her lap. Jonny relaxes a little bit.

“Um. Yeah. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” He clears his throat. She’s looking right into his eyes with a giant question mark across her face and all Jonny can think is, after this, she can never go back to this moment of not knowing. She squeezes his hand, prompting him to continue.

“They found some tumors around my spine, over the nerves. I had a biopsy done a few days ago and it turns out I have a rare form of cancer.” He had rehearsed this exact sentence in his mind a million times but today, saying it out loud, feels like he’s speaking a foreign language.

Kelsey’s face goes white. Her hand goes slack in his.

“You have… What? You—”

He gives her hand a little shake, trying to stop her from getting caught up in the mental spin cycle that he has become far too familiar with. It seems to refocus her enough for him to say what he really wants her to hear. It’s very important, he knows, that she listens to him now. “I know this is a lot. I can’t really process it myself right now. I just want you to know that I don’t expect you to stick around through all of this. I’m not saying I don’t want you here, I do, I really do. I just wouldn’t think any less of you if you didn’t want to take this on.”

She blinks rapidly a few times and shakes her head minutely.

“I’m okay if you want to take some time to think about it,” he adds calmly.

“No! No, of course I’m going to be here for you. Are you kidding? Jon…” She starts to cry then and Jonny lets her fall into his chest. He rubs circles on her back and waits patiently for her to stop sobbing.

When her breathing steadies out a little bit, she pulls back, looks him right in the eye and promises, “I’m here for you. We’ll fight this together.”

***

Jonny still hasn’t told his parents. It’s been four days and his parents don’t know that their son has a rare disease with a 50/50 chance of survival.

“That’s not fair,” Patrick says to him over breakfast when it has been three days and Jonny still hasn’t made any move to pick up the phone and call his mom.

“You have to tell them, Jonny. Soon.”

Jonny pushes a lonely blueberry around his plate with his fork. “I will. I just don’t think I can do it over the phone.”

“Well then go there or tell them to come here because you’re being selfish right now. If I were your mom, I would kill you.”

Jonny snorts. Patrick reaches over and picks up the wet blueberry and throws it at Jonny’s ear.

“Do it!”

For once, Patrick has a point. His mom is going to freak on him if she finds out he waited a week or two to tell her.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to make the first move. His mom calls later that day and says she’s coming to Chicago for a two-day trip with her book club and will be stopping by for dinner on her last night. Whether he likes it or not.

Ideally, he would like to have both his parents here, but he knows he can call his dad and tell him. His dad will offer him whatever he needs, of course, but he won’t lose his mind. Not in front of Jonny anyway.

He’s not so confident about his mother’s reaction.

He asks Patrick and Kelsey to be there with him that night. These are the two people that will be there with him, day in and out, going forward and he figures it might ease some of his mom’s concerns if she sees a united front.

As it turns out, it wasn’t quite enough.

Once his mom has processed the initial news she informs him, “I’m going to move here for a while.”

Oh, God. He wasn’t expecting _that_.

“What? No! Mom, I’m going to be fine. I’m still going to go to school and work. If treatment gets tough I’ll just take a day or two off. It’s going to be fine.” He tries hard to soften the last word but his mom is starting to vibrate in her seat now. Jonny suspects that the dinner remaining on her plate is going straight into the trash after this.

“Are you kidding me, Jonathan? Who is going to take care of you? You can’t do this alone!”

Jonny ducks his head and waits. And waits. Finally, Kelsey raises her hand nervously. “I am,” she squeaks out. “I’m going to take care of him.”

Jonny’s mom’s eyes are brimming with tears but she blinks them back hard and swallows whatever comment she was about to spit out. Instead she gathers herself up with a few deep breaths and looks Jonny straight in the eye. “Okay. If that’s what you have decided.”

Jonny looks from his mom to Kelsey. Jonny knows his mom can be intimidating and it looks like Kelsey is starting to feel the heat. Her body is stiff and upright and it kind of looks like someone is holding a gun to her head forcing her to sit here, but she nods and says, “Yes.”

Patrick hasn’t said a word, but he’s not eating. Jonny doesn’t miss the look his mom and Patrick share right after that, but he has no idea what to make of it—or any of this, really.

The rest of the dinner is quiet and stilted and no one really feels like eating or talking anymore so Jonny calls time of death and goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on for his mom’s tea.

When he returns, Kelsey is checking her phone in the living room and his mom and Patrick are whispering to each other quietly across the table. They stop as soon as they see Jonny approaching.

“How about we get that tea for you, Andrée? Actually, I could go for one, too,” Patrick says. Jonny frowns and watches them leave the table. The only time Patrick ever consumes tea is when Jonny forces it down his throat when he’s sick.

Jonny starts clearing the table and when he walks around the far side he can see Patrick and his mom chatting in the far corner of the kitchen. He doesn’t stare and he can’t hear what they’re saying but Patrick is rubbing a hand up and down Jonny’s mom’s back, and when she starts wiping away tears, he gathers her into his arms and they hold onto each other tightly. He hears his mom say, “Thank you,” but nothing else.

They stay that way for long enough that Jonny has to find something else to do before bringing the plates into the kitchen.

***

“I’ll probably be done around four today, assuming all goes well with this client presentation I’m helping with. Do you want to grab a run with me when you get home?”

They’re stuck in traffic and barely moving. Patrick’s fussing with a fingernail and continues to do so after Jonny poses his question, like maybe he didn’t hear him. He must see the glance Jonny throws at him out of his peripheral vision because he finally answers, “Maybe we should tone down the running for a bit. Especially while you’re in treatment.”

That’s exactly what had Jonny feared. He and Patrick have never tip-toed around each other. They are blunt and to the point. They don’t treat each other with kid gloves. Ever. It’s bad enough he’s getting this from his parents already. His mom sent him 28 links in and email yesterday. The subject line was, _recovery and relaxation techniques for cancer patients_. Jonny hasn’t clicked on one of them.

“Don’t,” Jonny says shortly.

“Don’t what? Tell you to take it easy? Sorry, pal, someone has to do it because obviously your sweet little girlfriend doesn’t seem like she’s up for the job.”

“Don’t do that,” Jonny says again. “I know I freaked out at first but I’m good now. This is physically no different than what I’ve already been dealing with for the past 8 months. Don’t start treating me differently just because someone has put a label on it.”

Patrick’s shoulders drop. He glances at Jonny again and somewhere in his half smile and arched eyebrows is an apology.

“And don’t talk about Kelsey like that. She’s been great.”

Patrick snorts then, turns to look out the window. “Yeah, sure, if being absent all the time and essentially ignoring you is great.”

“She’s not—” Jonny cuts himself off before he can get roped into another one of these arguments with Patrick that seems to last a lifetime but solves nothing. In all honestly, he has barely heard from Kelsey since they had dinner with his mom, he just hasn’t had a lot of time to even think about it let alone worry about it. “Just don’t, okay?”

Jonny is thrown sideways by a solid punch that lands square on his upper left arm. He narrowly avoids hitting his head off the passenger side window. “Ow! What the hell, Kaner?!”

Patrick’s eyes are comically wide with a mixture of guilt and shock. “You said not to treat you any differently. I figured I would have done that before so…”

They stare at each other for a long second then Jonny’s bent over laughing. Beside him he hears Patrick start to join in but his eyes are watering over so it’s hard to see. “I hate you so much,” he manages to sputter, finally getting himself under control after a solid minute. He can’t even remember the last time he laughed like that. It was probably the last time he got high, which was _way_ too long ago, well before this whole I’ve-got-shitty-cancer thing.

Patrick’s still chuckling beside him, but this time a hand comes to rest more gently on Jonny’s shoulder, squeezing once. “You love me more than anything.”

Jonny wipes at his eyes and brushes Patrick’s hand off. “Make me dinner tonight and I might just.”

“Your wish is my command.”

***

To Patrick’s credit, he does stop treating Jonny like he’s going to break apart at any moment after that. They run together twice that week. Jonny spends an inordinate amount of time ducking pillows when they’re playing video games, or harder objects like pens, paperbacks, or once, Patrick’s shoe, if the game wasn’t exactly going his way. Patrick mocks him for being tired or sore just like he did before the dreaded c-word made its way into Jonny’s life.

Jonny doesn’t sleep much the night before his first round of chemo. His plan is to work in the morning.  Patrick said he’d pick him up on his lunch break and bring him to the hospital. When he’s finished, Kelsey’s going to pick him up, and the rest of the day, Jonny assumes, will be a write-off.

He fills out a mountain of paperwork at the hospital before a nurse leads him back to where he will receive his treatment.

There are two men already hooked up to their IVs and Jonny is told to sit next to one of them. He’s immediately hooked up and the nurse tells him to press the button on his chair if he needs anything over the next hour.

Jonny pulls out his real estate law text book from his backpack and settles in for some studying.

“Whatchya got there?” the man next to him asks. Jonny would guess the man is probably in his late 70’s, but he still has a head-full of chalk white hair.

It takes a moment for Jonny to realize he’s talking to him. “Oh,” he says, holding up the text so the guy can see the front. “Real estate law.”

“Ah.” The man nods appreciatively. “You in school?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says with a smile. “Almost done.”

“Good for you. I’m Chuck.”

Jonny shakes Chuck’s offered hand. “Jon.”

“First time?” Chuck asks.

Jonny grimaces slightly. “Yeah.”

“You’re young, you probably won’t feel a thing.” Chuck says, then both he and the man next to him burst out laughing like it’s the funniest thing anyone’s ever said. Jonny’s a little baffled but he laughs a little anyway. It’s hard not to.

“Jon this is Mike.”

Jonny leans forward to wave at Mike who is sitting on Chuck’s other side. Mike appears to be a bit younger, maybe in his 60’s. He’s completely bald but Jonny assumes that’s from the chemo rather than a genetic misfortune. “Welcome to the Thursday afternoon crew, son”

“Thanks.”

Chuck and Mike ask about Jonny’s cancer and tell him about theirs. It’s a little surreal feeling like they’re talking about their sports cars rather than life-threatening illnesses, but their candor is contagious and it’s not long before Jonny’s sharing details openly and joking right along with them. Jonny lets his text book rest across his lap and answers all of their questions that range from his age, to where he’s from, to what he does for fun.

Mike is finishing telling them a story about how he had to hide his bacon cheeseburger the night before when his wife came into the room, only to find that, when he went to retrieve it, the dog had already eaten it. “You got a wife or girlfriend?”

Jonny nods, “Girlfriend.”

Both men grunt. Mike says, “Don’t rush to get married. You lose the majority of your rights.”

“Thanks,” Jonny chuckles. “I’ll make note of that.”

“Have you been together long?” Chuck asks, more seriously now.

“Ten months.”

Chuck pats Jonny’s arm. “Good. That should be long enough. Because let me tell you, son, there’s nothing glamorous about this.” He gestures to the bag of fluid draining into his IV.

Jonny winces. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“This is tough thing to go through alone. Take it from me, a lonely old grump. And I assume your family is all back in Winnipeg?”

Jonny nods. “Yeah, but I have Kan—Patrick,” he corrects himself. “He’s pretty much family.”

“Is Patrick your—I thought you said you have a girlfriend?” Chuck asks.

Jonny laughs. “Patrick’s my roommate.”

“Oh.” Chuck smiles at him. “Well, you’re lucky to have someone around.”

When Jonny finishes his treatment and is getting ready to go, his phone buzzes.

_Kaner: Hope everything went well today. Won’t be home until later but text me if you need anything._

Yeah, he is pretty lucky.

***

Kelsey is waiting for him in the loading area just outside the doors. She smiles brightly when she sees him and waves him over.

“How’d it go?” she asks while Jonny is getting settled into her passenger seat.

“Fine,” he says. “Uneventful.”

The sun is glaring off of the snow so Jonny reaches into his backpack for his sunglasses, slipping them on.

Kelsey spares him a glance at a stop sign. “You feeling okay?”

Jonny shrugs. “Yeah. So far so good.”

She seems to deflate in relief, sighing through her nose. “That’s good.” She pats his thigh twice. “Now let’s take advantage of this beautiful day and binge watch some Arrested Development.”

By the time they get back to Jonny’s apartment, he is dog-tired. It’s probably a combination of not sleeping the night before, stress, and of course, the chemicals now running through his veins. Kelsey must notice that he’s flagging because she suggests setting up Jonny’s laptop in his room so they can watch in bed instead of the living room. He’s not going to protest.

He thinks he makes it through one full episode, but if he does, he doesn’t remember how it ends. He falls asleep with his girlfriend curled up behind him, running her hands through his hair.

Chuck was right, he is pretty lucky.

***

When Jonny’s alarm wakes him on Friday morning, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that he has slept through the night and he’s not nauseated. He’s drowsy and his head is aching like he’s dehydrated, which is impossible considering the amount of water he has consumed over the last 24 hours, but at least he’s not puking. He’s certainly well enough to go to work, so he gets showered and dressed in his suit like he normally would before Patrick’s alarm goes off.

Jonny’s already eaten, caught up on the news, and sent an email to his boss letting him know that he will be in the office today, when Patrick’s bedroom door finally creaks open—a mere 10 minutes before they’re supposed to leave. Jonny can’t imagine any scenario where he gets to work on time at this pace.

Patrick lights up when he sees Jonny sipping coffee on his barstool. “Hey! How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” Jonny follows that up by washing down a couple of Advil with a swig of coffee, causing Patrick to side-eye him. “I mean, my head hurts but my stomach feels fine.”

“Huh.” Patrick sounds surprised. “Well, that’s good. You sure about going to work, though?”

Jonny shrugs. He feels more hungover than anything. Given the poison circulating through his bloodstream, that’s not surprising. “Maybe it won’t make me sick after all.”

“Wouldn’t that be ironic: your delicate flower of a digestive tract doesn’t succumb to fucking chemo.”

Jonny laughs. Hard to argue with that.

Patrick settles onto the bar stool next to Jonny and starts into his cereal. “Is Kelsey still sleeping?” he asks around a mouthful of Cheerios.

Jonny swallows thickly. “I don’t know. She went home last night.”

“When?” Patrick frowns. “I never saw her leave and I was up until two in the morning.”

“Not sure. Sometime in the afternoon. I was asleep.”

Patrick stills and looks up from his bowl of cereal. “She left while you were _sleeping_?”

Jonny shrugs, hopes he’s giving off a vibe of indifference. He woke up around sunset to find Kelsey gone and a text explaining how she was going to sleep at home. His head was spinning a bit so he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he drank half the bottle of water she must have left on his nightstand and fell back to sleep.

Patrick splays both hands across the counter on either side of his bowl. Jonny thinks he’s just pretending to choke for effect but he’s not positive. “Was her apartment on fire? Did her grandmother die?”

Jonny gives Patrick a look that he hopes conveys just how ridiculous he thinks he’s being. “What? No. She sent me a text saying she just wanted to sleep in her own bed and she didn’t want to wake me.”

Patrick shakes his head. “After your first round of chemo…”

Jonny hates what Patrick is implying. Jonny doesn’t know what he should expect from people right now but Patrick’s making it clear that Kelsey isn’t meeting _his_ expectations. “I was fine, Kaner. It’s not like I needed her here.”

“She didn’t know that. She left while you were _sleeping_!”

“Kaner, stop! It’s fine. I don’t care. I’m fine, aren’t I?” Jonny holds his arms out at his side, displaying his fineness in all its glory.

“Oh yeah, you’re great. Couldn’t be better,” Patrick mumbles.

Jonny rolls his eyes at Patrick’s dramatics. “Let’s go. I’m going to be late.”

Patrick gets up to put his bowl in the sink and pour himself another cup of coffee. “Who fucking cares? You had chemo yesterday. They should give you a standing ovation for just showing up.”

Jonny growls under his breath. “I’m _fine_.”

He gets poked in the chest by Patrick’s index finger. “I’m going to make that your ringtone.”

“Piss off.”

***

They skate on Saturday like they always do, and when Jonny has to take a break from shooting because his back starts to ache and his stomach is churning in a way that makes his throat go dry, Patrick sticks to his word about not treating Jonny any differently doesn’t ask him if he’s okay, or suggest they pack it up for the day. No, instead Patrick throws his empty water bottle at the back of Jonny’s neck, calls him truly insulting names, and tells him to, “watch how a real man does it,” before setting off down the ice with the puck and sending a slap shot just under the crossbar.

Despite the discomfort currently gnawing at what feels like all of Jonny’s nerves, he can’t help but laugh. He lets his upper body fall back onto the ice so he can stare at the sky. The sound of Patrick’s skates cutting ice and the tapping of the puck against stick as he stickhandles around him is strangely soothing. Jonny closes his eyes and lets the noise and stillness lull him into a semi-comatose state.

He jolts suddenly when a stick smacks against his skates. “Hey, look over there.”

The sun is directly behind Patrick’s head and Jonny has to squint to see any of his features clearly. Patrick nods over towards the entrance. Jonny cranes his head to see a small group of girls putting their skates on.

“So? I have a girlfriend.” Jonny starts to close his eyes again, desperate to regain the meditative calm he had a minute ago.

“So? So, get off your ass and help me get laid. Jesus, what kind of friend are you?” Patrick starts to skate towards the girls. Before he gets far enough away that Jonny can’t hear him, he scoffs, “ _So_ …” shaking his head.

The girls are nice enough. They’re young. Younger than Kelsey and the girls Jonny goes to school with, so they seem very young, though he and Patrick are probably only a few years older than them.

Patrick has latched onto a brunette, whose blonde friend, for some reason, seems intent on getting Jonny to tell her his life story. Jonny really, really, just wants to go home. Kelsey’s supposed to come over and maybe they’ll watch a movie and no one would blink an eye if he fell asleep in the middle of it from the pain and nausea drugs he is now certain he’ll have to take as soon as he walks through the door. Patrick must sense he’s waning because he starts to work Jonny into his conversation. “This guy, though. You should see this guy with a puck.” He whistles dramatically under his breath. “Thing of beauty.”

Jonny furrows his brow in confusion. Patrick’s idea of complimenting Jonny on his hockey is to tell him he didn’t suck that much today. So yeah, Jonny’s floored by this one. Patrick’s blue eyes are sparkling mischievously and that’s when Jonny knows he’s in for it. Patrick loves doing this—playing games with his friends to make himself look good in front of girls. More often than not, Jonny comes off looking like an idiot. For some reason, Patrick has decided that this version of mess-with-your-best-friend is a little different.

After some talk about where the girls are doing their undergrads, Patrick works Jonny back in.

“Jonny, here, is actually in law school.”

“Oh really?” the blonde—Jen? Julie?—says. “My brother just took the bar. He was putting in crazy insane hours at school. I don’t envy you guys.”

“It’s ok. He has me to take care of him,” Patrick says, winking dramatically at Jonny. Both girls “awwww.” Jonny has to physically stop his eyes from rolling out of his head.

“He looks like he can take care of himself,” Jen-Julie-Something responds. Her hand finds its way onto Jonny’s shoulder.

Jonny searches out Patrick’s gaze and widens his eyes. That damn sparkle is still there though.

“Well, actually, Jonny here is a bit of a hero. Not only does he go to law school and work, but the guy is actually fighting cancer now as we speak.”

This time there are gasps. Both girls cover their mouths with their hands and do their best to look impressed and mortified at the same time. Jonny would like to melt down into the ice right about now. He’s pretty sure that if his face gets any hotter, he might do just that.

“But don’t feel sorry for him. He hates that.” The girls nod earnestly. Patrick’s girl even says, “Yeah, of course,” under her breath.

“I figure the least I can do is make him a good solid meal so he eats properly every day. What kind of roommate would I be if I let my cancer-stricken, best friend starve?”

Jonny can literally see the moment the brunette decides she’s sleeping with Patrick that night. It’s like a switch that goes off. She wraps her arm around his side, squeezing his waist and stares up into his eyes like he’s the second fucking coming of Christ. Jonny wonders if his jaw is literally on the ground.

Thankfully Jen-Julie-Something quietly finds an excuse to join her other friends shortly after that bomb is dropped. Jonny can see that Patrick is going to stick around for a bit so he takes off his skates and in a rare moment when the brunette, Alex, he learns her name is, isn’t clinging to Patrick, he quietly sneaks up behind him, tells him he’s going to split.

“You don’t mind if I stay?” Patrick asks.

“No man. But Kelsey’s coming over in a bit so I should probably head back.” Jonny gestures towards Alex who’s laughing with her friend in the far corner of the ice. “You stick this one out. I’m taking your car, though.”

Patrick smiles and nods. “I figured. See you later, man.”

A fist bump and a short drive later, Jonny is collapsed on his warm couch, properly medicated and is working through Netflix trying to find something for him and Kelsey to watch when she shows up.

He has finally settled on some Vince Vaughan comedy he hasn’t seen, when his phone buzzes three times.

_Kelsey: I’m held up at work._

_Kelsey: Not sure when I’m going to get out._

_Kelsey: Can we take a rain check on tonight? I would hate to wake you if I came in late._

Jonny lets his hand fall down onto the couch cushion beside him, still holding the phone. He knows he should probably be more disappointed than he is. It’s just that he’s in pain and he feels so sick. He’d been told this could happen, delayed nausea, but when it hadn’t hit right away, he really thought he had dodged the bullet. He feels like an idiot for letting himself believe that yesterday’s headache was the worst it was going to get.

The drugs are starting to work, making his eyelids droop. He allows himself to cling to the hope that when he wakes up, he’ll feel as good as he did this morning.

It would be nice if someone were here with him, someone to talk to and distract him when the pain gets too bad. Someone to hold the hot water bottle against his lower back when he’s lying on his side—because that position provides the most relief. Someone to laugh at a stupid Vince Vaughan movie with him. Someone to just _be there_. But Jonny can’t bring himself to get angry or worried or upset by any of it right now. He presses play on the movie, adjusts the hot water bottle between his back and the back of the couch, and suddenly wishes he had made an effort to try to eat something before crashing. The movie has barely gotten started when he falls asleep.

***

The first thing Jonny notices, before anything else, is how hot he is. A bead of sweat is rolling down between his shoulder blades and his faces feels like he just dunked his head under water— _boiling hot water._ Then comes the pain, a searing, blinding jolt that rips through his spine and down his legs. He has the worst headache of his life. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he can tell by the dancing changes in light behind his eyelids that the tv is still on, then there’s a hand on his elbow. “Jonny? Hey, c’mon.”

The hand squeezes and Jonny knows he will regret it but he forces his eyes open just a little bit.

Patrick’s face is maybe a foot away from Jonny’s, his lips are pursed and those ridiculous eyebrows are drawn together tightly. Jonny has to close his eyes again, the light is like a piercing dagger and he figures he’s a minute away, two tops, from losing his lunch.

The hand disappears and Jonny shivers. He blindly reaches down to pull the covers up but there are none. Right, he’s on the couch. The movie. No Kelsey. Patrick and his girl…um…? Alex. Right, Alex. God, Jonny prays she’s not here right now. Maybe it’s four a.m., maybe Patrick is on his way back from her place. It’s just as likely that it’s nine p.m. and the girl could be witnessing this all from the doorway. Jonny couldn’t check if he wanted to. His stomach rolls and he knows he’s not going to make it much longer. He wouldn’t normally care but he likes this couch. He likes it so much. He really hopes he just pukes on the floor. God, is this really his life now?

Then there’s Patrick, pulling his upper body into a sitting position and molding Jonny’s arms around a small bucket that’s suddenly in his lap. A warm, solid body is a pillar next to him on the couch as he starts to throw up god-knows-what. He hasn’t eaten since before noon. There’s a hand across the back of Jonny’s sweat-slicked neck, thumb rubbing barely perceptible circles along his hairline.

“You should have told me it was this bad. I never would have left you alone.”

“Kelsey was supposed—” he’s cut off by another round of heaving.

Patrick doesn’t even inch away. Their thighs are pressed together side by side on the couch as Jonny bends over his bucket; Patrick’s hand stays steady on the back of Jonny’s neck. “Yeah,” Patrick says quietly. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits patiently for Jonny to finish. And when he does, Patrick helps Jonny lie back down and takes the bucket away. He disappears for a bit, but Jonny can hear him not too far away. Then he’s back with two pills that Jonny takes by feel without opening his eyes, a bottle of ice cold water, and a hot water bottle that Patrick holds in just the right spot when Jonny lays back down again. Patrick isn’t on the couch so Jonny figures has to be standing behind it, holding the heat in place. That must be awkward, Jonny thinks absently around a wave of nausea. Then there’s a blanket being pulled up over top of his now shivering body. How he can go from boiling to freezing in such a short period of time is baffling.

“Wha’ time s’it?” Jonny mumbles. He doesn’t know why he wants to know but for some reason it feels important.

“10:30,” Patrick answers from, yep, behind the couch.

Jonny doesn’t remember much else from that night. But he’s pretty sure that Alex was not there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and encouragement. I have a lot written for this but it's a matter of organizing and fleshing some things out properly. It's taking me a bit longer than I anticipated with the holidays so it might be several more days before I post again but I will continue to work on it when I have time.
> 
> This will come as a shock to approximately none of you, but I do not have a beta. Despite my best efforts to proof read many, many times, errors always seem to sneak through the cracks. So please accept my apologies and I hope it doesn't take away from the fic too much.
> 
> I feel I should include a disclaimer at the end of each chapter to take all medical information with a MASSIVE GRAIN OF SALT. It's a story, not a medical journal, and I tried hard to just skirt over the details on purpose. Please don't read too much into it.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonny would be willing to pay large sums of money to anyone who would be willing to body swap with him for the next few days. Of course, if he had large sums of money already he wouldn’t be studying for this shitty exam so that he could go get a job that would make him large sums of money. His Advocacy exam is at 10:30 tomorrow morning and then right after that he has the wonderful joy of chemo in the afternoon.

When Patrick walks passed him and into the kitchen area, Jonny catches a whiff of something he has been smelling all evening but he can’t quite put his finger on or figure out where it’s coming from.

“Do you smell that? What is that? Like, lemon or something”

Patrick doesn’t even take a deep breath or attempt to sniff it out, just responds with an immediate, “Nope.”

“Seriously?” Jonny, puts his pencil down onto his well-worn notes. He’ll be seeing them in his sleep at this point but if he stops studying now he’ll feel guilty. “You don’t smell anything?”

Patrick is popping open one of Jonny’s gluten free beers, but really, what is Jonny going to say to him? _You’ve made me dinner almost every night for the past month, but don’t drink my beer?_ He’ll admit he can be a bit of a jerk sometimes but he’s not an asshole.

“Is this some sort of chemo side effect?”

“I’m serious. It smells like a candle or something…”

“I’ve never burnt a candle in my life,” Patrick responds dully.

“Huh…” Jonny says mostly to himself.

“You done?

Jonny eyes are still roaming the room for the source of the mysterious smell but he gives up with shrug. His books and highlighted notes are scattered across nearly every square inch of the kitchen counter. Patrick has to wiggle his beer between some papers and a text book to find it a comfortable resting spot while he surveys what’s in the fridge.

He turns around with giant stick of celery hanging from the corner of his mouth. Jonny’s always keeping the fridge stocked with chopped celery and carrots in cups of water. It’s one of the few ways to get Patrick to consume at least a few veggies daily. “Okay, while you work on that,” Pat mumbles around the protruding object, “what’s happening tomorrow?”

“Same as last time, if that works for you. I have my exam first thing, then if you could pick me up at lunch and bring me to the hospital that would be great. It would be tight for me to try to catch a bus.”

“Yeah, of course, no problem.” Pat takes a loud bite out of the celery and examines the stick as he chews. “What time did you finish last time? You want me to pick you up after? I’m sure I can get Debbie to cover for me for a little bit.”

“Thanks, man, but that’s okay. Kelsey’s gonna pick me up.”

Patrick sneers a little at that. “Let’s assume she won’t, how are you going to get home? You shouldn’t be taking the bus after chemo.”

Jonny grinds his teeth then spits out, “She’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says quietly. “Sure.”

“Will you stop being such an asshole? I told you she’ll take care of it, okay?”

Patrick smacks both hands on top of the counter. One of the pages near the corner catches the sudden wind and drifts to the ground but Jonny doesn’t immediately jump off his stool to retrieve it. Instead, he meets Pat’s bulging eyes. “Yeah?” Pat yells. “Will she? Where is she, Jonny?” He holds up his hands and looks around the room. “Where has she been? Because she hasn’t been here! At all. When are you going to admit that, huh?”

Jonny feels like he has been punched in the gut. Anger swells up from his core and makes the tips of his ears hot. “I don’t need this, too, okay? I can’t make her be here all the time but she said—”

“I don’t care!” Patrick shouts back, cutting Jonny off mid-sentence. “I don’t care what she says, it’s what she does. And she has done nothing but make things _harder_ for you over the last month! You can’t possibly tell me that she isn’t adding _more_ stress to your life?” Jonny doesn’t say anything right away and Patrick backs up a step to reach down and grab the note that had found its way onto the floor, slamming it back onto the counter.

Jonny’s temper wants to shout back; it’s in his DNA. But he suddenly feels overwhelmingly tired. He’s usually the one picking fights, not Patrick, and it throws him for a giant loop. Maybe he only has so much fight in him and this is where he taps out.

He gets up slowly, gathering up his notes and sliding them into the middle of his text book, closing it up. He’s trying really hard not to move too gingerly. Apparently, Patrick’s looking for reasons to freak out tonight. “I’m going to bed, okay? If you want, we can resume this fight again tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Patrick says sullenly when Jonny starts to walk away. “I just can’t watch you get fucked over anymore.”

It’s only 9:30. Jonny knows he won’t be able to fall asleep for hours. He should study more. He should go back out there and talk to Patrick. Instead, he shutters himself in his room, crawls into bed and pulls the covers up over his ears.

***

The exam does not go well. Maybe he didn’t study enough, maybe he’s just not focused, but he blanks on four or five questions and spends five minutes each time staring at the paper trying to rack his brain for an answer before guessing and writing something down. In the end, he’s scrambling to finish on time and he knows it’s reflected in the quality of his responses. When he walks out of the lecture hall, he’s disappointed and pissed and hungry but he doesn’t have much time to think about it because Patrick, who would barely look at, let alone speak to him this morning, is picking him up in three minutes to drive him to chemo.

His life is a basket of puppies.

“How did it go?” Patrick asks as soon as Jonny opens the car door.

 _Oh, we’re talking now_ , is what Jonny wants to say. But no, he doesn’t, because he knows that as much as he himself has a temper, Patrick is superb at holding a grudge, so if he’s willing to bury the hatchet, Jonny isn’t going to be the one holding them back.

“Not great.”

“Sorry,” Patrick says.

“Yeah."  Jonny smiles softly into his lap. “Me too.”

And that’s that. They probably won’t ever speak of it again, which is fine by Jonny.

They walk through the hospital together chatting idly about how badly Jonny bombed his exam until Patrick has to split off towards his department.

“See you at home, okay? Good luck.”

And with that, Jonny wearily continues towards his second chemo treatment on his own.

***

It isn’t so bad. Chuck and Mike are more than happy to lighten the mood with bad jokes and stories about their past.

“When I was a kid I used to call everyone Mom,” Mike says, after Jonny whines about his exam for a bit. “I don’t know why I did it but I did. Got so much crap about it, too. Started to realize I did it mostly when I was nervous or stressed about something. It would just fly out. No control! I was in college writing my first exam ever and I realized I was missing a page. I had pages one and three, but not two. I put my hand up but the prof wasn’t looking. I was afraid she wasn’t going to see me, so I called out, ‘Mom!’ Everyone turned and looked at me. I swear I could have died right then and there.”

“I suddenly feel a lot better. Thanks, Mike,” Jonny says around his laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I almost had to change schools after that…”

Jonny feels a lot lighter after chemo. If not physically, at least mentally. He sends Kelsey a text as soon as he’s done to meet him by the east entrance. He figures she must already be out there because she doesn’t text back.

When he gets to the east entrance he doesn’t see Kelsey’s car, but it’s hard to see anything from inside the revolving doors of the corridor so he walks down the sidewalk a bit to see if she’s parked along the curb in any of the pick-up spots. Nope. He calls her. Voicemail. He leaves her a message, sends another text, then sits on the bench by the pick-up spots so he can watch for her car. He holds onto his phone and waits.

***

“Jonny?”

Jonny’s head snaps up, and there’s Patrick, frozen in place at the “T” junction in the sidewalk leading to the hospital’s entrance. It’s starting to snow but not enough that Jonny can’t see the shock written across Patrick’s face. “What are you… Why are you out here?”

Jonny swallows thickly. It’s too late. He should have figured this would happen. Of course Patrick would find him here before Jonny could figure out what to do. Why wouldn’t he? Patrick works here after all.

Jonny opens mouth then closes it again. _Think,_ he scolds himself. But his head is pounding and he’s so exhausted just the thought of coming up with a story feels like an incomprehensible task.

For some insane reason he all of a sudden remembers the answer to question 34 on the exam. He had guessed wrong. _FUCK._

Besides, it’s Patrick. If Jonny lied, it would take Patrick all of 30 seconds to figure it out. “Jus’ waiting.”

“Waiting for… What are… Where’s Kelsey?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing that actual tears start to form behind Jonny’s eyes. You’re tired, he reminds himself. It’s the drugs, he rationalizes. Still, the heat of shame worms its way up the back of Jonny’s neck and makes his previously frozen ears tingle and burn. He stays very still for a five count, does a controlled breathing exercise he learned in Yoga class that he figures has to be just as good for this kind of emotional balance as it is for stress or anger. He hates himself right now. It’s easier than hating anyone else.

He jumps when something brushes against his arm.

“Jonny?”

“I don’t know,” he says quickly.

“You don’t know?” Patrick’s sitting beside him on the bench now, speaking quietly, almost nervously. “You must have finished chemo an hour and a half ago. She never showed up?”

Jonny forces himself to look to his left and sees the rage taking over Patrick’s features. Jonny can’t find the words to respond so he shakes his head slightly. _I’m sorry. You were right._

Patrick turns his shoulders away so that his back is to Jonny, but even through his Jacket, Jonny can see his back muscles tense, his shoulders up by his ears. Jonny’s not sure what Patrick does in those two seconds but when he turns back around his face is much softer.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping his arm around Jonny’s back and grabbing a handful of jacket as he goes to stand, “Let’s get you home.”

***

Jonny falls asleep in the car on the way home, his toes and fingers are thawing uncomfortably and his whole body hurts. A lot of that is just from sitting in the cold on the bench for so long, trying to stay warm.

He vaguely recalls Patrick pulling him out of the car and supporting him with a hand on his shoulder on the way up to their apartment, but as soon as they’re home, Jonny curls up on the couch and falls asleep under a mound of blankets that somehow find their way on top of him, one by one.

He wakes a while later to the sound of voices down the hall. They’re so low they’re almost a whisper, but it’s harsh enough that Jonny can make out most of the words.

“Why are … here?”

“Stop it, Pat. I’m sorry … okay? I said … was sorry. Can I see … boyfriend … please?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Then I’ll wait… to wake up. He doesn’t … you … protect him. Especially … from me!”

“Are you … real? You left … there! In … fucking … cold. After … he … fucking … chemo.”

Jonny rubs a hand over his face. His eyelids feel so heavy. He contemplates rolling over and pulling the heavy pile of blankets over his head but then has visions of talking to homicide detectives and thinks twice on that. He swears his eyes make a sound when he finally forces them open. _Gross._

He blinks a few times then croaks out, “Hey!” to no one in particular. His throat is so dry. He could drink a gallon of water right now. The voices stop suddenly and there’s blessed silence for 10 seconds. He blinks and his eyes stay shut for a second too long and he has to pry them open again.

Pop. _Ew_. He’s seriously grossed out by himself right now. Eyedrops are going on the grocery list this week for sure.

Then, over the top of the couch Kelsey’s face appears. “Hey,” she says. She at least has the decency to look apologetic as shit.

“Hi,” Jonny responds. He makes the effort to push himself into a sitting position despite protests from his back and Kelsey takes that as an invitation come around the front of the couch. She doesn’t quite know what to do with the blankets and eventually decides to just climb on top of them all.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says, once she’s settled, reaching cautiously for his hand. Jonny looks down at her hand cradling his, and cringes slightly. “I got caught up in something really important at work and by the time I realized what time it was it was too late. I’m really, really sorry.”

Her eyes are glassy and she tries to pull his hand forward into her lap but he’s not having it. She recoils a little at that and sniffles, but doesn’t let go. Jonny continues to stare at her hand, and strangely recognizes that the many blankets are from both his and Patrick’s beds.

“I uh… I called you? Like, four times…” he says finally to break the silence.

“I know,” she says without missing a beat. “My phone had died and when I charged it I saw your messages. I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I did that.”

Patrick is hovering in the entrance to the living room with his hands crossed over his chest. Jonny hadn’t even noticed him there until he mutters, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” under his breath and storms off to his bedroom, slamming the door.

Kelsey whips her head backwards to where Patrick had disappeared and then she lets out a sob. “I feel terrible about this already. I don’t need him making me feel worse!” she says loudly.

Jonny stares straight ahead and blinks a few times, shocked by her outburst. He has no idea what to say to her. He feels awful and can’t summon up the energy to make anyone else feel better, never mind that he has zero desire to comfort her right now.

“I can’t do this right now,” he says slowly, pulling his hand out of her grip.

She wipes away a tear that’s started falling down her cheek. “I know, and I’m sorry, Jon. I really am. But I can’t be here if he’s going to treat me like that.” She gestures towards Patrick’s room.

He squints at her, unsure, exactly, what she’s implying.

She gets up and grabs her purse from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. She runs a finger under each of her eyes and then looks at Jonny. “I hope you understand.”

He doesn’t. He won’t try. Not now. Any other time, maybe, but certainly not now. Not after today. Not after all this.

She lets out a shaky sigh then leans forward to kiss Jonny on the forehead. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Jonny feels numb. Emotionally, physically—everything feels broken. He knows he says nothing but maybe she interprets something in his expression as acceptance because she smiles tightly and walks out of the living room.

She leaves so quietly that he doesn’t even hear the door shut behind her.

Jonny closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath. Then another.

There’s footsteps approaching. They stop not too far away. “Where’s Kelsey?”

“She left,” Jonny says. Another breath in. Out.

In. Out.

“Is she coming back?”

Jonny shakes his head slowly.

In. Out.

In. Out.

The footsteps start up again, coming closer. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder. He still doesn’t open his eyes. His stomach is doing somersaults. Anger, shock, maybe just overwhelmed. A small part of him wants to die. A bigger part of him wants to live but sleep forever.

Patrick’s voice is different when he speaks again. Low and resigned, much like Jonny feels right now. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit? I can get you one of those pills the doctor gave you for the nausea?”

Jonny nods slowly. It likely won’t help what he’s feeling right now but it will quiet his mind enough to help him fall asleep. The hand disappears and the footsteps retreat towards the kitchen.

***

Jonny naively drags himself to work the next morning despite multiple warnings from his stomach that, if he had even an ounce of self-preservation, he would have paid more attention to. But because the first time around he didn’t have any issues the day after chemo aside from a headache, he really thought he’d get the same 24-hour grace period.

Boy was he wrong.

Not even an hour after he walks into the firm’s daily morning meeting, he has to excuse himself and it becomes clear, real fast, that he’s not coming back.

Mostly he’s panicked, because what does he do now? He’s stuck, at work, puking his guts out in a not-so-private restroom, his phone’s back on his desk in his cubicle, he can’t leave—he can barely stand for fuck’s sake. So yeah, he’s starting to panic on top of everything else and he has no idea how he’s getting out of this one.

Then he hears the door open and the spike of panic that rips through his chest is immediately replaced by a wave of relief.

“Jonny?”

_What the… Patrick?_

Stall doors further down the line are being flung open rapidly with enough force that they bang clatter against the walls behind them. Jonny braces and then…yep.

“Ow!” he yelps.

“Oh, shit!” Patrick shouts, crouching down and placing apologetic hands on Jonny’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” Jonny squawks. And maybe he should have said, “Thank god you’re here!” but he did just get nailed in the back by a bathroom stall door.

“Your boss called me. Said you were sick and needed to go home. I knew you shouldn’t have come to work this morning…” Patrick finishes more to himself than to Jonny.

“He called you?”

“Yep.” Patrick starts helping Jonny to his feet, leading him over to the sink area. “He actually called Kelsey first because both our names were on your emergency contact list, but surprise, surprise, she didn’t answer…”

“Oh…”

“But we’ll talk about that later,” Patrick rushes to finish.

“Oh goody,” Jonny grumbles.

“You need a bag or bucket or something? Or will you be okay if we get out of here real fast?”

Jonny swallows thickly and contemplates his nausea levels. “Let’s just make it quick.”

They escape the office without incident but the drive home takes much longer than it should. Jonny has to ask Patrick to pull over twice. There’s little left in his stomach by this point, but the retching tears at his burning throat and compounds the already biting headache. By the time they make it home he only stops by his bedroom to grab his pillow then curls up on the bathroom floor, settling in for the long haul.

After about an hour, maybe it’s two or three—it’s hard to tell in bathroom time—Patrick knocks and pushes the door open, letting himself in. He’s bearing a bottle of water and a smile and Jonny, who’s enjoying a moment where his stomach is actually somewhat settled, smiles back tiredly from where his head is resting on his pillow on the floor by the base of the sink. Patrick places the bottle of water by Jonny’s elbow and perches on the edge of the tub.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Patrick says a little too seriously, and Jonny’s stomach flips for a whole new reason.

“Okay?” He clears his throat. “Um, now?”

Patrick’s rubbing the back of his neck and actually looks a little regretful when he says, “Yeah, sort of.”

Jonny uses his legs to push himself backwards so that he’s partially sitting up against the wall. “Ok. Shoot.”

Patrick takes a deep breath before speaking which only ratchets up Jonny's nerves further. “Today, when I was leaving the hospital to come pick you up, I saw Kelsey…”

Jonny groans. This is exactly where he was hoping the conversation _wasn’t_ going. He opens the bottle of water and takes a careful sip.

“No, it’s not what you think. I didn’t say anything to her. Actually, she didn’t even see me.”

Jonny frowns. “Okaaaay.”

“I uh…” Patrick’s teeth worry at his bottom lip and his cheeks turn a little red. “I saw her kissing another guy.”

_Oh… Well, shit._

“I’m really sorry, Jonny. I didn’t want to tell you. I was going to wait but then I thought, is there ever a good time, you know?” He gulps nervously. “I took a picture in case you wanted to see or she denied it—”

“No. I don’t.” Jonny cuts him off. “I mean, I believe you. But I don’t want to see it. Thanks.” Jonny smiles tightly for the briefest of milliseconds then grimaces.  “I knew it was over but…” he shakes his head and glances to the ceiling.

“I’m really sorry, Jonny,” Patrick repeats.

Jonny drops his chin to his chest and sighs through his nose. For some reason the next thing out of his mouth is, “I don’t want to tell my parents. They’ll just worry more.”

“They know.”

That makes Jonny's head pop up. “What? How?”

“Well they don’t _know_ , know. But they knew this was going to happen.”

Jonny shakes his head sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“That night when you told your mom over dinner?” Jonny nods Patrick on. “You know what your mom said to me in the kitchen after?”

Jonny shakes his head.

“That girl is going to hurt him when he’s hurting the most.”

Jonny lets that soak in for a second. How is it that everyone around him saw right through this girl except for him? He knows he should feel stupid but instead he just feels played.

“She said thank you.”

“Who did?” Patrick asks.

“That night in the kitchen, when my mom was crying and you two were hugging, she said, ‘Thank you.’” Jonny explains.

“Oh. Yeah.” Patrick nods.

“What for?”

“She was scared you were going to rely too much on Kelsey and she would let you down. I told her, ‘I got it.’”

For the first time since finding out his girlfriend is cheating on him, Jonny feels like he’s close to tears.

“Oh.” He can’t say anything else right now, so he leans to his left and bumps his shoulder against Patrick’s leg. Then he stays there, leaning against his best friend, the one person who has been there for him day in and out over the last seven years. Cancer or no cancer.

Patrick doesn’t say anything. He just holds Jonny up.

***

By Sunday, Jonny is feeling more human again. Patrick even manages to find them a public skating rink to replace their usual Saturday skating time that Jonny wasn’t well enough to attend. After skating, albeit lightly, they crash on the couch for an afternoon video game marathon that Patrick dominates much to Jonny’s verbal and physical dismay.

“What do you want to eat tonight?” Jonny asks when Patrick is preparing for his victory lap that Jonny’s car didn’t even qualify for. Again, much to his, and their couch cushion’s, dismay.

“You’re on your own tonight, my friend. I’m going out.”

“Oh, are you?” Jonny asks perking up. “Where are you going?”

“I have a date!” Patrick says proudly. “Ironed my shirt and everything.”

Jonny laughs out loud. “You do? And who is the lucky lady?”

“Alex. You remember Alex, right?”

“Alex from the rink? Wait, you’re going on more than one date with the same girl? Wow. Am I about to get a ‘save the date’ card in the mail?”

Patrick smiles and grabs his controller from the table, getting ready and focusing as the screen counts him down. “What does that even mean?”

“She slept with you and actually came back for more?”

“You’re hilarious. Anyone ever told you that?”

Jonny smirks.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t slept together,” Patrick corrects him. He’s revving his car up at the start line hard enough that it fishtails as soon as the flag drops. “Yet,” he adds emphatically.

“You’re telling me she didn’t sleep with you that night?” When Jonny left that day, she looked like she was ready to jump Patrick right there in the middle of a public skating rink.

“Nah. I kind of cut things short before we got there.” He lets out an ‘oof’ sounds when another car bumps into his but he regains control before it leaves the track. “Tonight’s another night, though. You know what they say, Jonny: anticipation is the greatest drug.”

“I’ve actually never heard anyone say that. But what happened? I thought you two were hitting it off?”

Patrick shrugs casually. He leans forward, tongue sticking out one side of his mouth as he turns his whole body to the left and cranks the controller around, like it’s somehow going to help his on-screen vehicle make the turn. Once he’s safely back on a straight stretch he says, “You looked pretty rough when you left that day so I texted Kelsey,” he spits her name out like venom on his tongue, “later on to ask how you were feeling. She told me she had bailed. Then I texted you but never heard back. So, I just went home.”

Jonny vaguely remembers reading a text from Patrick the next morning, but he never thought much of it.

“So, you bailed on this girl to come home and check on me?”

Patrick appears frustrated that Jonny insists on talking to him right now while he’s clearly in the battle of his life, but he still responds with a clipped, “Good thing I did. You were a fucking mess.”

“Wow…I—Um, thanks?”

Patrick’s clearly distracted by his game but he spares a split second to look over at Jonny—like he’s wondering what Jonny could possibly be thanking him for right now. “Oh,” he says, realization dawning. He quickly fist-bumps Jonny’s thigh without removing his eyes from the television. “Yeah, sure, man. Anytime.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has left a comment so far. I was pleasantly surprised to get some nudging for an update, and for anyone who happened to be waiting, I'm very sorry it took so long. 
> 
> Because this story wasn't technically written in chapter format, I've had a really hard time finding natural starts and ends, especially in this chapter, which is probably why it's so long. So I'm sorry if it feels a little abrupt. I felt like I could have gone on forever because nowhere felt like a good place to stop.

“I’m sad for you,” Jonny’s mom says when he tells her about Kelsey.

“Don’t…don’t be sad for me, Mom. I’m okay. It’s okay.”

“I thought this might happen. I’m sorry, Jonathan, but some people… Some people you know will let you down.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. A part of him wants to apologize to his mother, but then he realizes how insane that is and bites his tongue. He drapes his forearm over his eyes and uses the back of his hand to hold the phone between his ear and the cushion.

“Are you seeing the psychologist your doctor recommended?”

Jonny releases a silent sigh. He can already tell this conversation is going to drain all of his energy.

“No, mom. I’m not.”

“You need to do that,” she says firmly. Jonny feels the cushions dip near his feet and knows Patrick has just occupied his usual spot and is listening to this entire conversation.

“Okay. I just don’t really have time right now. I’ve got school and work and—”

“Please try to make time, Jonathan. It’s important that you talk to someone about everything you’re going through.”

“And when, exactly, am I supposed to do that?” His voice is rising with every word and for some reason he feels angrier than he has in days. “Before work? After school? During fucking chemo?”

“ _Jonathan_ \--”

“I can’t do any more than I’m doing, okay? I _can’t_.” His voice catches on the last word and he hates that he’s this close to crying.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Please don—”

Jonny feels a hand on his knee. He peeks out from under his arm but Patrick is looking off in the other direction while making his silent offer of support.

“You’re taking on too much. You need to slow down and take care of yourself.”

“I _am_ taking care of myself. I’m making money to pay my tuition so that I can go to school then graduate and get a good job that should set me up for life.”

“But…”

“But what, Mom? What’s the point?”

“Oh my God, Jonathan, I would never-- Of _course_ you’re going to be okay. I know you will. You’ll beat this just like you’ve accomplished everything you have ever set your mind to. Just please… _please_ give yourself the best opportunity to do so. That’s all I’m asking.”

Jonny makes himself take a long, deep breath before responding. He’s not mad at his mom. Of course he knows she only wants what’s best for him. He just feels so spread thin as it is, he can’t imagine adding anything else to his plate.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

He hangs up with his mother and takes a second to compose himself.

When he removes his arm from his face he has act fast, ducking to the side and snapping both hands up to avoid taking a controller to the face.

“ _Jes_ —"

“Too busy to get your ass kicked?” Patrick antagonizes.

Jonny shakes his head in amusement. He quickly reels in the controller by the cord and starts to sit up.

“Don’t worry,” Patrick adds casually, “It’ll only take me five minutes then you can get back to your busy life.”

“Fuck off,” Jonny laughs.

 

***

 

KANER: _I’m going to be a bit late tonight. Have to cover for someone. Alex is coming over at 7 to watch the game. You home?_

JONNY: _I’ll be here._

KANER: _Cool. Thx. I’ll bring home food._

Jonny doesn’t mind being alone with Alex. She’s funny, smart, loves watching hockey, and is taking classes to become a sommelier. The few times Jonny has been able to join them when they’re hanging out, he’s enjoyed her company. To top it off, she’s Canadian, so Jonny doesn’t even have to listen to the usual chirps and comments about his “accent.”

Alex shows up with a bottle of wine and a 6-pack of Patrick’s favorite beer, which she stacks in the fridge for when he gets home later. Jonny’s a little surprised when she pops the cork on the wine and pours them each a glass, but it’s a really nice cabernet sauvignon from California; he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Jonny puts the Hawks game on and takes a small sip of the wine.

He swirls the glass.  “This is really good.” 

Alex nods. “I actually went to Napa Valley and toured the winery. It was amazing. I bought an entire box of this exact wine then realized I didn’t have room to take it back with me, so my friend and I had to drink two bottles between us for each day we had left on our trip.”

“What a hardship,” Jonny says sarcastically.

She laughs.  “I spent a lot of mornings hungover.” 

“I’ve always wanted to do something like that. Tour wine country. Hop from winery to winery. Try all the different wines.”

“Have you heard about the wine domes on the Riverwalk?”

He shakes his head.

“There’s a winery that puts up these domes on the Riverwalk, they’re heated so you can sit out there in the winter, enjoy the view and drink wine.”

“Have you done it?”

“Not yet. But I want to. Would you like to come?”

“Sure.” Jonny shakes his head with a chuckle. “Kaner’s gonna hate it.”

She frowns, swallowing a sip. “Why would Pat come? I think he’d rather saw off his left arm than do something like that.”

“Yeah, well,” Jonny snorts. “I don’t think he’d be thrilled if we went without him.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Why?”

Jonny’s waiting for the punchline but either she’s got a really good poker face or she’s not kidding.

“Jon, do you think Pat and I—” She shakes her head. “We’re not a thing.”

“Oh,” Jonny rocks back against the cushions, a little shocked. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

She cocks her head to the side, smiling like she doesn’t really believe him. “ _Really_?”

He’s not sure why, but he can feel his cheeks getting warm with embarrassment. “I mean, I was there when you guys met. You seemed pretty into him.”

“Yeah but then we went out, and I got to know him and…”

Jonny lifts his eyebrows, waiting for her to finish. Obviously she doesn’t hate Patrick the person or she wouldn’t be here.

She waits, that smiling look of disbelief is back on her face. “ _Really_?”

The door to the apartment opens then, and seconds later, Patrick saunters into living room, arms laden with several bags of takeout.

He sets them onto the table in front of Jonny and Alex and says, “You’re welcome,” before anyone can bother to thank him.

“Thanks, Pat,” Alex sing-songs.

“You’re the best, Kaner,” Jonny follows up, already digging into his container of vegetable stir fry.

Patrick drops down onto the couch with a flourish of splayed limbs. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Patrick rolls his head across the back of the couch and side-eyes the wine glasses on the table for a moment before searching out Alex’s gaze. “There’s beer for you in the fridge,” she says without missing a beat.

“Oh thank God,” Patrick says, popping up and heading into the kitchen.

“See,” she says to Jonny, pointing her plastic fork at Patrick as he leaves the room. “He’d be a waste of space and money in that dome.”

Jonny smiles in agreement. He’s still a little twisted around by what Alex said before Patrick came home, but he can ask Patrick about it later. For now, he’s content to enjoy the food, wine, hockey and good company.

 

***

 

“It’s a good day, Jonny boy!”

Chuck is rubbing his hands together and grinning maniacally.

“Uh, okay,” Jonny says, glancing over to Mike for an explanation as he takes his seat. Mike just chuckles, shaking his head. “Why, exactly?” Jonny asks a little nervously. Generally speaking, no chemo day is a good day. It’s a bad day, followed by at least one terrible day. Jonny usually dreads this day with every fiber of his being. The only thing that makes this day bearable is chatting with these two guys.

“I’m gonna drive a race car!” Chuck shouts out so loud that Jonny jumps in his seat. “Wooohooo!”

There are people in the hall peering into their room curiously, wondering what all the commotion is about.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jonny laughs out.

“They Filled my Bucket, son!” Chuck claps his hands once in front of him and rubs his palms together. “I got my wish!”

“Who did what? Help me out here,” Jonny pleads towards Mike.

“Fill Your Bucket is like Make a Wish for adults,” Mike explains.

Chuck has started some sort of dance in his chair, ignoring the men on either side of him.

“Hey, don’t jolt that port!” Karen, their usual nurse, scolds teasingly as she approaches Jonny to hook him up to his poison.

“Don’t care!” Chuck sings out loudly followed by another, “Wooohooo!”

“Oh my God,” Jonny laughs under his breath.

“They’re actually coming by again today if you’re interested,” Karen says to Jonny once Chuck has quieted down.

“Me?”

She shrugs. “Sure. Why not? Isn’t there something you would love to do?”

Jonny’s mind starts racing with the possibilities. “Uh…”

“Maybe something with your girl?” Mike suggests.

Jonny grimaces and Karen looks up at him sharply, stopping what she’s doing. “No, no, you’re fine,” he assures her as she places the needle in his arm.

“We, uh, actually we’re not together anymore,” Jonny explains.

“Oh, Jon. I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

Chuck’s suddenly not dancing in his chair anymore.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I knew it was coming,” Jonny assures them.

“Still, that sucks,” Chuck sympathizes.

The room is quiet for a beat then Jonny has an idea.

“You know,” he says suddenly, perking up. “I do know of something I would really like to do for that wish thing. I’m not sure I’ll get to do it, but--”

“I can get Sheila to swing by the room before your treatment’s over,” Karen says with a smile. “She can tell you all about it. If you qualify you can probably put in a request today.”

When Jonny goes home that day, he’s extremely optimistic. Sheila, who runs the program, said that his request is quite common, and since she has an “in,” she was optimistic that she could get his wish granted fairly quickly.

He’s shocked when, later that night, he finds a voicemail from Sheila on his phone saying that his wish has been granted and, when he’s feeling up to it, he should give her a call to discuss the details.

 _Kaner’s going to freak_ , he thinks to himself.

 

***

 

Jonny’s slumped over the edge of the tub, head pillowed on his arms. He knows what to expect now, the sudden, overwhelming nausea that, this time, woke him out of a great dream about finally graduating law school. Since three a.m. he’s been bathroom bound. He’s pretty sure his stomach has been entirely empty since six a.m., yet, here he is, three hours later, still trying to expel his insides.

Patrick stumbles in, half-asleep, shortly after nine. He stops abruptly when he sees Jonny.

“Youch,” he says with an exaggerated frown, taking in the scene in front of him. “I’d ask how you’re doing but…”

“I have some good news,” Jonny mumbles.

A half-smile creeps across Patrick’s face. “You have _good_ news? Really?”

Jonny nods into his forearms.

“Because your body language isn’t screaming good news right now.”

“Shhh,” Jonny says, then pushes his head into the crook of his elbow as he breathes through a spike of nausea.

“Okay, sorry,” Patrick says softly. “What’s this good news?”

Jonny tilts his head so he can squint up at Patrick, who has closed the toilet lid and is now sitting next to Jonny.

“We’re going to practice with the Blackhawks.”

Patrick’s head jerks up. ”We’re… _what_?”

“I made a wish. You and me. Skate with the Hawks.” Jonny’s stomach is trying to crawl up his esophagus so Patrick will have to figure it out from those few words.

“Are you—"

“You. Move,” Jonny warns.

“Yep. Sorry.” Patrick jumps up and lifts the toilet lid.

Jonny’s a little pre-occupied dry heaving up all of his organs, but he can still hear the tap running. Shortly after there’s a cool washcloth draped across the back of his neck and a supportive hand on his back.

“I have a shitload of questions for you but you’ve got other things going on so we’ll put a pin in that for now.”

Jonny can’t say anything. He’s just trying to breathe deeply but his lungs keep stuttering and the room’s starting to blur.

“Hey, come on. Slow through your nose, out through your mouth,” Patrick coaches soothingly.

Eventually, Jonny does get himself under control but it’s all he can do to collapse in a pile next to the toilet.

“Okay, bud, you’re exhausted. You need to get into your bed.”

Jonny wants to protest, insist he needs to stay in the bathroom for obvious reasons, but his bed sounds so much better than a tiled floor.

“I’ll get you a bucket. You’ll be fine.”

Suddenly Jonny finds his deadened limbs being manipulated, an arm thrown over Patrick’s shoulder and a strong grip around his wrist. “Come on,” Patrick says with a grunt, lifting them both from the floor. “Up we get.”

Somehow Jonny ends up in bed, curled around some sort of basin, just in case. He’s so relieved, he falls off to sleep despite the ever-present nausea.

 

***

 

For some reason this treatment hits Jonny harder than all the others. He has to take three days off work, mostly because he’s so tired he can barely walk to the bathroom and back without holding onto a wall. He tries studying in bed but his eyes can’t track properly and more than once he wakes up with a book across his face.

He’s not 100% on the fourth day, but he can’t miss anymore school, let alone work, so he forces his groggy body out of bed and back into a routine. Unfortunately, his brain apparently isn’t working properly and Patrick has only just dropped Jonny off for work when he realizes he’s forgotten the one and only thing he _had_ to bring with him today: a key with a file he’d made some notes on while he was laid up.

So he bolts from the office, grabs a bus back to the apartment, and prays he can get back to work with the key before the mid-morning meeting.

He’s storming through the apartment, running on pure adrenaline now, all the fatigue weighing him down only an hour ago all but forgotten, when he realizes, he’s not alone.

He stops suddenly, listening for the sound he thought he heard a second ago.

“Kaner?” he calls out.

“Hello?” a distinctly female voice answers back.

And that is…very clearly not Patrick.

Jonny cautiously walks towards where the voice came from, which turns out to be the bathroom, oddly enough. He stops in the doorway.

“Um, hi?” he says, almost wanting to look around to make sure he’s got the right apartment.

A small Asian woman glances up from where she’s washing the floor and smiles brightly at him. “Hello!”

“Hi,” Jonny says again. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Maria,” she says with another huge grin, then she turns her back to him and starts in on the bathtub.

Jonny stands there for a few seconds, incredibly dumbfounded, then steps back out into the kitchen and immediately calls Patrick.

“Why is there a nice little Asian lady cleaning our toilet?”

Patrick takes a second then asks, “Are you home right now?”

“I forgot my key with an important file on it and had to run home to grab it. Who is this person?”

“Oh, that’s just Maria.”

Patrick’s crunching into something loudly into the receiver. Jonny waits and waits but no other explanation comes.

“Are you going to elaborate?”

Patrick sighs impatiently. “She cleans our apartment.”

“ _Since when?_ ”

“I don’t know…a couple of months ago?”

“How did I not know about this?” Jonny whispers shortly.

“Because you’re a fucking slob who wouldn’t notice if an entire herd of pigs used your room as a litter box?”

“Okay, backup. _Why_? And are you paying her to clean our apartment?”

“Are you serious? Of course I’m paying her, Jonny. Haven’t they taught you that slavery is a bad, bad thing at that fancy law school of yours?”

Jonny’s feeling the adrenaline from his mad dash home starting to fade. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, but _why_?”

“Oh my God, we’re going in circles here, pal. Are all your brain cells fried from those drugs? Let me spell this out for you nice and clear: you’re a slob, I’ve been too busy to stay on top of it lately, so I hired Maria to do a deep clean once a week. _Capisce_?

“I…” Jonny lets out a tense breath through his nose. “I can’t really afford to pay for any of that though, Kaner.”

“Is someone sending you a bill?”

“No, but you shouldn’t have to pay for this. I know why you’re doing this and—”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there because, one, you’re giving me a migraine and, two, I have a patient waiting for me, so I don’t have time for your guilty psycho-babble. If it helps, consider it part of your birthday present, okay? I gotta go. Say hi to Maria for me.”

Jonny stares at his phone for a beat then slowly walks back down the hallway.

Maria looks up at him again when he reappears in the bathroom doorway. “Hi Maria. I’m Jon,” he says with a friendly smile. “Sorry, about before. I was just caught off guard.”

“Not a problem,” she says, still chipper and smiley. “I’ll be done here in about 45 minutes. Is that all right?”

“I just stopped by to grab something I forgot earlier.” Suddenly, Jonny recognizes the soft lemony scent he’s been picking up here and there around the apartment for the past several weeks. “Take your time. Thanks, and sorry, again,” Jonny says, waving goodbye.

He grabs his key and starts the trek back to work. Once on the bus, he sends a message to Patrick.

JONNY: _I’ve found the source of the lemon smell. Thanks for making me think I was losing my mind, jackass._

Patrick responds immediately with three middle finger emojis.

JONNY: _That’s not physically possible_

Patrick sends him one more.

 

***

 

Patrick is running down the hall, pumping a fist to the beat of his very loud, “Let’s go Hawks!” chant. He completes a circle of the living room then jumps up onto the couch, grabbing the Indian head logo on the front of his jersey and shaking it with a loud, “WOOO!” to finish his circuit.

Jonny waits until Patrick is back on the actual floor before he continues to chew the bite of banana he had just taken when he was startled by this gratuitous display of team loyalty.

Patrick comes up behind him and shakes his shoulders enthusiastically.

“A little excited, Kaner?” Jonny asks with a laugh.

“SO pumped!” Patrick says, grabbing a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Maybe keep the caffeine to a minimum this morning.” Jonny wisely advises.

“Do you want my white Hawks jersey?” Patrick asks, ignoring him. “Or do you want to bring your Jets jersey and get them to sign that?” He’s grinning mischievously over the rim of his mug.

Jonny frowns. “I’m going to try not to piss off the people who are doing me a favor.”

Patrick slaps him on the back approvingly. “Atta boy. Hawks all the way!”

“I think that the email said they’re going to give us jerseys, anyway.”

“Seriously?! Can this day get any better?”

Jonny laughs. He loves how enthusiastic Patrick gets about stuff like this. Not that they’ve ever done anything like this before, but still, Patrick’s never shy about celebrating things he loves. He gets scarily into Christmas and he once threw Jonny a three-day birthday party. It’s a character trait that Jonny wishes he possessed more of himself. Jonny is actually a little nervous to go out there and skate with the Hawks. He’s no NHL player, and he knows that no one expects him to be, but he can’t help but worry that he might somehow make a fool out of himself.

That combined with the sore throat and headache he woke up has put a pit of dread in his stomach that he’s having a hard time shaking, despite Patrick’s somewhat contagious glee.

“You okay? You look a little glazed.”

Jonny sits up straighter on his barstool and clears his throat. “I’m good,” he says with a smile that he actually feels. It’s hard not to smile when the excitement is practically leaching out of Patrick’s pours.

“Patrick Sharp and I are going to be best friends, Jonny,” Patrick says earnestly. “I just know we are.”

“Hey!” Jonny tries to sound affronted.

“You know what I mean. You’re more than that, blah blah blah,” Patrick says quickly, “But, seriously, if Patrick Sharp wants to move in here, you’re out. Tomorrow.”

Patrick makes sure he’s backing away as he’s saying this so he’s out of smacking range, but Jonny still manages to bean him in the shoulder with one of the tennis balls Patrick keeps all over the apartment to toss when he gets fidgety.

 

***

 

It is the best day.

Skating with an NHL team is amazing in and of itself. Doing it with your best friend who is clearly having the time of his life, is indescribable.

The Patricks actually do hit it off. Patrick Sharp insists that they call him Sharpy upon introductions. He falls easily into calling Patrick Kaner, and when he asks what Jonny’s last name is, then looks at the back of the Jersey the Blackhawks had given him with his name stitched on it, he says, “I’m just gonna call you Toes.”

Jonny smiles and shakes his head with a, “Whatever you want, Sharpy.”

Jonny’s not sure how these types of events usually go, but he gets the feeling they aren’t used to guys who can actually skate or shoot a puck joining them for these things. Coach Q even lets Jonny center the two Patricks on a couple of line rushes, all of which end in very generous goals from goaltender Corey Crawford, and a ridiculous celebration involving all three forwards.

Jonny doesn’t think he has laughed this much in months, which he supposes is the point of these things.

They skate for over an hour and then eat a great meal with all the guys afterwards. The whole team signs both of their jerseys, Brent Seabrook gives them a tour of the facility, Duncan Keith gives them each a stick, Sharpy comes up behind Jonny at the end of the day and quietly says into his ear, “So I hear you have to find a new place to live tomorrow?”

By the time they get into the car to go home, Jonny and Patrick just sit there in silence for a few seconds, trying to digest the past four hours of their lives. Patrick finally says, “Did that just fucking happen?”

They both look at each other and start laughing in disbelieve.

It is the _best_ day.

The first part of the drive home is spent recounting a few of the highlights and includes a few shoulder slaps and fist bumps back and forth. The second half Jonny doesn’t remember because he falls asleep with his head against the window.

Patrick wakes him with a tap on the shoulder when they get home, says he’ll grab their sticks and bags from the trunk if Jonny wants to head in.

Jonny can’t bring himself to argue. He makes it as far as the couch and falls right back to sleep before Patrick has all their stuff back up in the apartment.

Later that night, once the sun has gone down, Patrick wakes Jonny again and this time helps him to bed.

“Where’s your phone?” he whispers as Jonny’s groggily pulling the covers up.

“Um…I don’t know,” Jonny croaks out. “I think the kitchen?”

“Okay, I’ll grab it.”

“Thanks,” Jonny mumbles. His phone’s alarm is how he wakes up in the morning, and if he went to bed without it he would never make it to work on time.

Patrick comes back in a few minutes later. A heavier blanket is draped over Jonny and he hears the telltale sound of a glass being placed on nightstand.

“Night, bud,” Patrick says on his way out.

 

***

 

“Hey, wake up for a minute.”

“Huh?”

“Just a minute then you can go back to sleep.”

Jonny works to open his sticky eyelids, see if there’s any light in the room that could help lure him back towards consciousness. It looks like it might be light out, but his drapes are still shut so he can't really tell. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take this.” Jonny has to blink two or three times to see that Patrick’s holding out a small plastic cup of what looks like deep red liquid.

Jonny pushes himself up onto one elbow. His stomach rolls sickly and his head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. He has no idea how long he has been asleep. Way too long, he guesses. He’s supposed to work but he can already tell, without getting up, that there’s no way he’s going to make it in today.

“Is it morning?” he asks roughly. He looks from his nightstand to his desk for his phone. But his eyes are having trouble focusing and the room is too dark, so he gives up and accepts the cup of bittersweet liquid, downing it with a grimace.

“Seriously, what time is it?” Jonny asks again once he’s sure the putrid liquid is staying down. It’s a close call for a few seconds there and he has to swallow one extra time to make sure. He falls back onto his pillow when his head starts to swim, closing his eyes against the dizziness.

Patrick takes the little cup back before it falls from Jonny’s fingertips onto the carpet. “I said not to worry about it. You’re not going to work. You could single-handedly heat the apartment right now.”

That makes sense if nothing and anything makes sense.

“Don’t you work today?”

“Nope,” Patrick says with a pop.

Jonny is 99% sure Patrick is supposed to be working today. Yesterday he kept mentioning how he couldn’t wait to tell everyone at work about how all the Blackhawks are his new best friends, but then again, Jonny is feverish and woozy and it’s entirely possible he has his days mixed up.

“Gotta call my boss.” Jonny says without cracking his eyes open. He sticks it hand out from under the covers and makes a grabby gesture, hoping that Patrick takes a hint and passes him his phone, wherever it may be. Instead he gets a slap across the palm.

“I already did that for you.”

Jonny wants to say, “I love you.” Instead he groans, “Don’t hit the sick person.”

“Oh, now you’re willing to play that card?”

Despite feeling like absolute garbage, Jonny can’t help but smile into his pillow.

“Do you need a bucket, Typhoid Mary?”

“That’s not…Typhoid Mary wouldn’t be…” Jonny sighs. “Nevermind.”

Patrick teasingly pokes just under Jonny’s collarbone and even though Jonny’s eyes remain closed, he knows Patrick’s laughing quietly to himself.

“I’ll get a bucket to be safe,” Patrick says. “And I’m going to call your doctor to make sure he doesn’t want to see your sick ass.”

Jonny groans. Patrick pokes him again.

“Sleep. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

“Thanks, Kaner,” Jonny mumbles into his pillow.

He receives a squeeze on his foot as Patrick passes by the foot of the bed on his way out of the room.

 

***

 

He spends four hellish days in a feverish daze. There’s times when he knows someone comes into the room and forces water down his throat, a thermometer into his mouth, but he can’t coordinate his limbs to do anything other than droop against his puppet master.

His entire body hurts in a way that he has never felt before—a deep ache through his legs and back and neck that pulses in time with the throbbing in his head. Chemo is rough, but this is a whole other animal.

He hallucinates forest creatures. Rabbits and squirrels and chipmunks. They’re all running around under his bed and through his furniture, scurrying faster than Jonny can track with his eyes. The squirrel keeps climbing the curtains, pulling them open and shut, letting light in and shutting it out, but it’s in and out so fast that Jonny can’t even tell what color it is and the light hurts his eyes so he never really gets a good look. The chipmunks steal his used tissues that miss the trash can, which is most of his used tissues. The bunny, though, he’s not sure what it does. It’s evasive, quick and nocturnal. He finally catches sight of it one night. It stops hopping in the middle of the floor, turning to look at him. It’s eyes are red and it sits frozen under Jonny’s stare. Jonny wants to say, “Gotcha!” but his throat is raw and he’s not sure if he really does have it... Then suddenly, the little grey creature with the red eyes starts to grow. It hulks out to five times its size in a matter of seconds and despite having no voice to speak of, Jonny is screaming as loud as he can, at the top of his lungs, and scrambles to the other side of the bed until he falls onto the floor. He continues to scramble until he hits a wall then curls up and prepares for the worst.

There’s a loud bang and then Patrick’s voice, “What the fuck?!”

At this point Jonny is almost in his closet, curled into the tightest ball he can manage, but Patrick must surely see why as the Hulk Bunny with the red eyes is probably about to kill them both.

Jonny almost jumps out of his skin when he feels something on his back.

No sharp bunny teeth. Definitely a human hand.

“Jonny? Bud? What’s wrong?”

He can’t hear much over the intense beating of his own heart and the rushing of blood in his ears but Patrick sounds eerily calm, considering…

“You’re freaking me out. What’s going on? Are you okay? Can you open your eyes for me, please?”

Jonny shakes his head. No. He can’t do that. What if it’s still there? What if it’s behind Patrick? Oh, God, what if it _is_ Patrick? What if he opens his eyes and Patrick’s eyes are glowing red?

Jonny presses his palms into his eyes and shakes his head again.

“Okay, bud, I know you’re running hot here and not thinking straight but you gotta tell me what’s going on or I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hulk bunny,” Jonny hoarsely scrapes out of his raw throat.

There’s a long pause.

“Did you just say _hulk bunny_?”

There’s something about Patrick saying it out loud that makes Jonny immediately feel a whole lot better.

There’s some movement in the room. Patrick flicks on a light. Jonny feels confident enough to take a peek around the room. He looks right into Patrick’s eyes, which are their usual blue, if a little cloudy with sleep, and likely confusion.

“ _Hulk bunny_?” Patrick asks again.

Jonny stares right back at him, body gummy with relief. He just now realizes how hot he is. His shirt is soaked, his hair damp, a drop of sweat drips from the tip of his nose. His head gets heavy and, yeah, okay, that was not real.

The side of Patrick’s mouth quirks up into a half smile. “I think you need to go back to bed.”

Jonny nods in agreement and prepares himself for the agonizing crawl back to his bed.

Patrick holds up a halting hand. “Just wait a second.” He starts pulling off the sheets, which even from the floor, Jonny can see are soaked in sweat. “See if you can get your shirt off at least, okay?” Patrick directs at Jonny as he gathers the armful of bedding and moves towards the door.

Jonny has his shirt off one arm when Patrick returns a minute later with a stack of clean bedding.

It’s sad that Patrick has changed the bedding, grabbed Jonny new clothes, and dampened a washcloth for Jonny to clean himself up with, while all Jonny has managed to do is remove his shirt, and even that has left him seeing stars.

Patrick crouches down in front of him. “You doing okay?” he asks, voice low with concern.

“I think so,” Jonny whispers. He has officially ruined his fragile vocal cords in his great escape from the hulk bunny.

“You should really take a shower but I don’t think that’s in the cards for you right now. So let’s just wipe the sweat off, get you medicated, and see if you can get some sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny croaks. He reaches out to accept the washcloth, but Patrick pulls back his hand.

“I’d love to let you do this for yourself, but in the spirit of efficiency, why don’t you just let me have a go at it and then you can get right into your nice clean bed as soon as possible, okay?”

Patrick looks hopeful and, in all fairness, Jonny’s not so sure he could lift his arms above his waist right now anyway so his pride will have to take a backseat yet again tonight.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, fixing his eyes on the carpet.

Patrick is gentle but quick, and by the time he’s helping Jonny back into clean clothes, Jonny is shivering violently.

“I don’t like this…” Patrick says warily. He sits back onto his heels, grimacing a little as he appears to be struggling with what to do next.

“S’ok. M’ok.” Jonny manages around chattering teeth as he crawls up and into bed.

Patrick still looks unconvinced, but he follows and helps pulls the covers up over Jonny’s shoulders anyway. He sits on the edge of Jonny’s bed, forcing him to take another cupful of the awful red liquid that he’s been consuming more than anything else over the last several days and then insisting on taking his temperature before Jonny can curl up into a ball and try to fall asleep.

“This is pretty high, Jon.”

Ugh, he’s breaking out the “Jon.”

The grimace seems to be permanently etched into Patrick’s features now. “I think we should go to the hospital. I should call your doctor again…”

“No. Please.” Jonny knows he’s bordering on a whine now, but he can’t imagine rolling over, let alone all the physical steps required to get to a hospital right now. “Jus’ wait. I’ll g’better.”

Patrick’s staring at a spot above Jonny’s head, teeth worrying at his lower lip. It’s like he’s running numbers in his head and Jonny’s not sure he likes his odds.

Jonny wiggles an arm out from under the edge of the covers and pats the top of the bed until he finds Patrick’s hand. He grabs on and gives it a squeeze. Patrick’s palm is warm and dry against his own. He doesn’t let go.

Patrick drops his gaze to meet Jonny’s.

He stops biting at his lip, mouth slightly agape. Turning his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he just got a whole new set of complicated numbers that he’s trying to decode.

Jonny’s eyelids get too heavy to hold open.

 

***

 

Jonny wakes to a dark room. He has no idea what time of day it is but it doesn’t really matter. He’s able to string a thought together which is more than he can say for the last several days. He carefully pushes himself into a sitting position and is relieved when he isn't overwhelmed with dizziness. He’s covered in dried sweat and after a quick run of his fingers through his hair, he decides a shower is definitely his short-term goal.

He opens his door and hears the television on very low, and it smells distinctly like…cookies? He ignores that for now and makes the short walk across the hall to the bathroom. One quick, hot shower later and he’s feeling partially human for the first time in too long.

In the kitchen Patrick is crouched down, looking through the little window on the oven.

“What you got in there?”

Patrick’s head whips around and he smiles broadly. “Hey! You look better.”

Jonny nods and slides up onto one of the barstools. “Yeah, feel a lot better.” His voice still sounds unfamiliar but at least it’s no longer painful to talk.

“Good,” Patrick says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Because I made you—well, us—something special.”

“Uh, should I be worried?”

“Worried? I’m a king in the kitchen.” He’s really not, but it does smell good. “I thought we could take a little trip and have some fun. Didn’t think it would be tonight, but if you’re feeling up to it…?”

Jonny huffs out a small laugh. “That actually sounds like a great idea, not gonna lie.”

Patrick grins and opens his mouth to say something but the oven timer goes off. “Ha! Come to me, my babies!” He wraps a dishtowel around his hand and pulls out a tray of what looks like chocolate macaroons.

Jonny doesn’t even need to ask if they’re gluten free. Patrick wouldn’t make anything containing gluten in this house, unless Jonny wasn’t going to be around to eat some of it.

“Go sit on the couch and I’ll bring a few of these bad boys out.”

Jonny obeys, settling into his comfortable spot. Hi stomach feels hollow from too little food in too few meals over the past several days, and surely he should be eating something more nutritious than a glorified pot brownie right now, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Patrick follows behind him a minute later with a bottle of water that he hands over to Jonny followed by two macaroons wrapped in a napkin. “Careful they’re still kinda hot.”

“Thanks, Kaner.”

Patrick tosses one of the macaroons right into his mouth and has to chew with his mouth open to avoid getting scalded. Jonny blows on his a few times, nibbles around the outside where it has cooled a bit and takes his time. The last thing he needs right now is to shock his stomach.

What Patrick hadn’t mentioned was how strong his fun little treats were. Within ten minutes, Jonny’s world gets blurry and he’s basking in a wave of sheer joy—for reasons he can’t pinpoint. Well, other than the fact that he’s not delirious, in pain or throwing up. Sitting on this couch and getting high with his best friend might just be at the top of his list of places he’d like to be right now. Things could be worse, he thinks, then he bursts out laughing when he realizes just how wrong that is.

“It’s pretty bad, but I really don’t care right now,” he says out loud with no explanation otherwise, then starts laughing again.

Patrick laughs right along with him. He rolls bonelessly until his upper body is laying down on the couch, head propped on one of Jonny’s thighs. “I don’t care either,” Patrick says happily, staring up at Jonny, and they both start giggling again.

“Oh, shit,” Jonny says, trying to catch his breath, “I haven’t felt this good in…” He pauses to actually think about when he might have felt good last. “Twelve years.”

Patrick laughs again. “I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.”

“Yep,” Jonny says again. “Maybe more.”

“Pretty sure you say something like that every time we get high, which is definitely more than once every 12 years.”

“Okay, fine,” Jonny agrees. Even he can hear himself slurring. It’s wonderful. “But Kelsey hated it, so before we started dating. I always felt bad about getting high when we were together.”

“That’s so fucking sad, man!” Patrick says way too loudly. “You haven’t felt good since _before_ you had a girlfriend?”

Jonny winces hard. “Yes. I know, right? The _saddest_.”

Patrick’s got his eyes closed now, a blissed-out smile on his face, and if Jonny weren’t positive they were still in the apartment, he would have sworn his friend was soaking up the sun. “Well, it’s a good thing you have me around to make you feel good then.”

Jonny nods hard enough that his chin smacks into his chest and makes his teeth click together. “Yeah.” He pats Patrick once on the chest. “I really am.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, maybe more, it’s hard for Jonny to tell when he’s floating on a cloud. When he looks back down at Patrick, blue eyes are staring right back up at him.

“You kind of scared me this week,” Patrick says softly.

Jonny purses his lips together in a tight smile. “Yeah, sorry.”

Patrick nods then closes his eyes again. “I spoke to your doctor and he said you’re going to have to be extra careful now. This was a knock your immune system didn’t need.”

“Mmm,” Jonny hums in agreement.

“I also spoke to Mark a lot.”

Jonny has no idea who Mark is.

“Mark,” Patrick insists, but when Jonny shows no signs of catching on he follows up with, “Your boss?”

“You call Mr. Holland, Mark? I don’t even call him that!”

Patrick shrugs. “Did you know he calls me Patty?”

Jonny coughs out a laugh of surprise.

“Why does he call me Patty, Jonny?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue.” Jonny says honestly. “I don’t even call him Mark!”

Patrick’s glaring up at him now, unconvinced.

“Seriously, Kaner!” Jonny says defensively, holding his hands up in front of his chest. “I can’t believe you are on a nickname basis with my boss.”

Patrick shrugs. “He loves me,” he says smugly. “Did you know he’s from Buffalo, too?”

Jonny starts laughing. Because of course Patrick would know where his boss is from. Why wouldn’t he?  Kaner, Mark and Patrick Sharp are all going to share an apartment together, aparently.

“Our parents live in neighboring towns. He even said something about taking us to a Cubs game this spring. Private box, Jonny! At this rate you’ll make partner in five years!”

Jonny feels like all of this should be weird. His boss, whom he barely knows, invited him and his roommate out. But either he’s too high to care or something about it just makes sense, because he doesn’t hesitate to drawl out, “That sounds awesome, Kaner. You keep on buttering up my boss.”

“Always looking out for you, Jonny.”

Jonny can’t deny that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever. If anyone who happened to be waiting for an update, I apologize sincerely. It's just a very long and important chapter that required a lot of time. Time that I could never seem to find! Hope people are reading and enjoying.

Jonny’s half awake. Or half asleep. It’s hard to tell which is winning. His eyes are half closed, squinting through the bleariness, hands clumsy as he rips apart lettuce. He should really start make his lunch the night before but there’s something exhilarating about sitting down to eat at noon and not remembering what his zombie-self put together that morning. He’s sprinkling pine nuts on top of the lettuce into the Tupperware container when his phone buzzes.

_TEXT: KANER_

Jonny looks at his phone then leans back to look down the hall towards Patrick’s room. His door is closed, which means he’s in there. Patrick never closes his bedroom door when he’s not home.

“Kaner?” Jonny calls out, not even bothering unlock his phone and read the actual text. There’s no immediate answer so he brushes his hands off and enters his passcode.

_KANER: Not going to work today._

Jonny frowns, walks down the hall and knocks a couple of times lightly on Patrick’s door, not waiting for a response before he turns the knob and pops his head in.

“Hey, you okay?”

The room’s dark but a Patrick-shaped lump stirs under the covers.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Patrick sounds awful, his voice rough and low. Jonny doesn’t even register the request and takes a couple of steps into the room to see if Patrick looks as bad as he sounds.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“I’m not joking, Jon,” Patrick growls, his raspy voice is giving out, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to yell and point at the door. “Get out now!”

Jonny recoils. Patrick never yells at him--not anymore, anyway. That, along with the _Jon_ , jabs uncomfortably.

Jonny backs out of the room and shuts the door carefully, thudding his his forehead against it once softly. “Do you need anything?” he asks through the door. “I can bring you something to drink at least.”

“No. I’m fine. Seriously, you need to get away from my door. _Please_ , Jonny,” Patrick pleads pathetically, then coughs harshly a few times.

Jonny takes a step back, if only because he feels like he’s somehow making Patrick worse by being this close. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

Jonny finishes making his lunch then digs out a loaf of bread from the freezer that Patrick must have bought a while ago, and slides a couple of pieces into the toaster. He prepares a large mug of tea with honey, butters the toast and puts a banana on the tray along with a couple of Tylenol Cold and Flu tablets in the corner. He quietly puts the tray outside Patrick’s bedroom door, then leaves for work.

On the way to the bus stop, he sends Patrick a text to let him know about the tray.

Jonny doesn’t get a response back until he’s sitting at his desk.

_KANER: Thanks for that. But when you come home, just call me if you want to talk. Please, please, please don’t be stupid and put yourself anywhere near me._

Jonny sighs. He wants to tell Patrick this is stupid, that in all likelihood, Patrick picked this up from Jonny in the first place, which means that Jonny is now immune, but that only makes him feel guilty. Patrick has the flu and his one and only concern is keeping his germs as far away from Jonny as possible.

_Jonny: Deal_

At lunch, Jonny gets an idea. Last Halloween, he and Kelsey went to a party as crime scene investigators. It had been a last-minute decision and Kelsey had easy access to some old forensic suits at work. Jonny’s 90% sure still has his suit in the back of his closet. He skips out of work a little bit early, which doesn’t matter because without Patrick making him stop for coffee and food this morning, Jonny had actually been early for once. The downside is he has to share the bus with a bunch kids on their way home from school. He buries his nose in his scarf and tries not to breathe in any more unnecessary germs.

When he gets home, Patrick is still barricaded in his room. There’s a sign taped to the door that says, “DO NOT COME IN HERE NO MATTER WHAT.” Jonny rolls his eyes.

He digs the suit out of his closet and slides it on over his clothes, gathers the wonton soup and crackers he’d picked up on the way home along with a bottle of water and some more pills, and then lets himself into Patrick’s room without any warning.

“Oh my Go—" Patrick shouts out, flipping over on the bed then stopping mid-yell when he sees Jonny, or rather, the giant-white-suited person coming towards him with a tray of food.

“Hungry?” Jonny asks; his voice vibrates behind the shield in front of his face. It’s a little hard to breathe in here but it’s better than whatever Patrick would do to him if he came in unprotected.

“Oh my God,” Patrick says again, this time laughing and falling back into his pillows. His face is pale and clammy looking, but he’s laughing and wheezing, then coughing, then laughing again. So, if nothing else, Jonny is helping his mood.

Jonny brushes away a pile of tissues with his gloved hand and then puts the tray down on Patrick’s nightstand.

“Well,” he asks again. “Hungry?”

Patrick’s still smiling broadly, taking Jonny’s outfit in from head to toe. “Actually, yeah. I could eat a little.”

“Good,” Jonny says, smiling back. He doesn’t know if Patrick can see his face or not but it doesn’t matter. “I got you some soup and crackers from that Chinese place you like so much on the way home. And,” he adds, pointing to the pills, “more drugs.”

“Amazing,” Patrick says. His voice is still rough but he doesn’t sound as bad as he had that morning.

Patrick lets Jonny hand him the soup then Jonny splays out across the foot of the bed while Patrick eats. They chat about Jonny’s day and their fantasy hockey teams. After about ten minutes they fall into silence and Patrick stares hard at Jonny’s awesome outfit.

“Is that from last Halloween?”

“Yes, but it’s real and it works, so you can’t kick me out.”

Patrick shakes his head and continues carefully sipping the soup. “You should wear that all the time.”

“Don’t push it.” Jonny nudges Patrick’s foot with his hand. “I can’t believe I’m even wearing it right now.”

Patrick’s smile slowly fades off his face, which makes him just look plain old sick again, and Jonny feels instantly guilty though he has absolutely no idea why.

“You have to be careful, man. I’m serious. You can’t fuck around with this.” He sniffs and looks around for a tissue. Jonny reaches behind him and tosses Patrick a box of Kleenex.

Patrick blows his nose then continues, “If you get sick again…” Patrick stops and swallows dry, which looks like it hurts.

“No, I know, I know,” Jonny says quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be flippant about it, okay? I’ll be careful.” He’d say almost anything right now to erase that look from Patrick’s face.

Patrick digests those words for a moment then he must believe them because he nods once. He puts down the spoon into his half-finished soup and slides it back on the nightstand.

“You done?”

“That’s all I can eat right now. Maybe later. But thanks, man,” he kicks Jonny lightly, “I really appreciate all of this.”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t even…” Jonny takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. “You’ve been so awesome through everything. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done a few times if you hadn’t been there. This,” he gestures to the suit and to the food on the table, “is fucking nothing compared to all of that.”

Patrick slouches down lower in the bed and curls up onto his side. He looks truly exhausted, and Jonny wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped off to sleep immediately. “I would do anything for you, Jonny,” he mumbles sleepily into his pillow, pulling it closer into his body.

Jonny sits very still and listens to his loud breathing inside his face mask. He opens his mouth to say something back but his heart is pounding for some reason and he doesn’t seem to have a drop of saliva in his mouth. By the time he finds his voice again, Patrick is, as predicted, already asleep. “Yeah,” he whispers so softly that he can barely hear himself. “Me too, bud.”

 

***

Patrick’s off work for the next four days, which means Jonny is fending for himself getting to work and keeping things running around the apartment, all while making sure Patrick is staying hydrated and medicated. It’s better now that Patrick’s back on his feet, and self-diagnosed as “no longer contagious,” even though he’s not well enough to go to work. Jonny’s surprised as how monumental a task the past few days have been without Patrick picking up all the slack. Jonny chalks it up to his reserves being low, but considering he’s hardly done anything extra for Patrick except bring him the odd thing, it makes Jonny ashamed to realize just how much has been leaning on Patrick the past couple of months.

Yes, he has to take transportation to work (he refuses to take Patrick’s car to work and leave him stranded at home in case he needs anything during the day), but it’s the other stuff that catches him off guard. He spends the better part of his morning digging through clothes in search of something without wrinkles in it because Patrick hasn’t been nagging him to hang his shit up as soon as he walks in the door. He had no idea just how many dishes they go through until he’s the only one doing them every day. And finding the energy to make himself a meal when he gets home is alike to climbing Everest.

It’s stupid stuff, but it adds up, and by the end of the week he’s exhausted. It doesn’t help that Patrick is barely speaking to him. Of course, Jonny knows his friend feels like shit, he was there himself not too long ago. It’s not that he expects Patrick to sit around all night after dinner playing video games and wrestling when Patrick can barely hold his head up. Jonny knows Patrick’s not mad at him. When Patrick’s mad, it’s a complete ice out, and that’s not what’s happening here. He still offers Jonny half-assed smiles and they chat lightly about nothing when Jonny brings him tea or meds, but he’s not himself. Not even with the flu. He seems…depressed. It just adds to Jonny’s mountain of worry.

He wracks his brain for some way to cheer Patrick up and decides on bringing pizza home after work that night. Not just any pizza, though. Patrick’s favorite pizza. The kind he never gets because they have to order it way ahead of time because, Sam, the guy who runs the place, is a control freak who does it all himself and can only take so many orders a night, and frankly, they’re just not that good at planning.

They used to hang out at Sam’s all the time when they were in school. Sam also happens to be the father of one of the guys that lived on their dorm floor. He would make personalized pizzas for their whole crew to eat on the way home from bar crawls. Jonny’s mouth is watering just thinking about it. He pats at his coat pockets searching for his phone so he can place his order for tonight but comes up empty.

“Shit,” he growls, spinning on his heel and bee-lining back for the apartment. He’s already missed the early bus, which means he wasn’t going to get a cup of coffee before the morning meeting anyway. He checks his watch quickly, squinting through clouds of steam he’s puffing out as he jogs up the steps to their building. He’s pretty sure he can grab his phone and still make the next bus if he hurries.

He bypasses the extremely slow elevator and opts instead for the stairs; he knows he can do the four flights in half the time it would take waiting for that dinosaur to arrive. By the time he steps into the apartment, he’s almost embarrassingly out of breath. His exercise routine has gone to shit.

He’s about to yell out to Patrick to toss him his phone when he hears the very distinct voice of Donna Kane coming through on speaker.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Better,” Patrick answers, but his voice is still a raspy mess which makes his mother cluck her tongue. “You still sound terrible. I hope you’re not going to work.”

Patrick clears his throat and does manage to sound a bit stronger when he says, “No, not today.”

Jonny sees his phone sitting on the boot mat where he must have put it down when he was getting ready to leave. He scoops it up and puts it in his pocket.

“Good. Dr. Martinsen was over last night. He asked about you again. Have you made a decision yet?”

“Mom…” Patrick all but whines.

“Your father went through a lot to get you that job offer, Patrick.”

Jonny freezes with his hand on the doorknob, his next breath caught up in his throat. He knows he should leave, sneak out unnoticed and run back down those four flights of stairs to catch the next bus, but he can’t make himself move. He has always found Donna Kane to be extremely intimidating no matter how much Patrick insists she’s a big softy. Even now, 500 miles away, and completely oblivious to Jonny’s presence, he still finds himself standing up a bit straighter and sweating slightly under his scarf as if she’s scanning him from head to toe.

“I appreciate that, I guess,”

“Patrick,” she scolds.

“Mom, I’m not looking for another job! I like my job!”

This has gone too far. Jonny feels like a stalker. He has heard too much now. He is about to announce his presence by at least shuffling into the room and making eye contact with Patrick so he knows Jonny was here, but Donna’s next words hit him like a punch in the face.

“You can come _home_ , Patrick.”

It’s hard to hear over his heart pounding in his ears, but Jonny catches Patrick saying quietly but clearly, “Chicago is my home now.”

“Your entire family is in Buffalo. Chicago is not your home.”

“I don’t really want to argue about this, Mom.”

“Is this about Jon?” Now Jonny’s sure that Patrick, and the entire neighborhood, can hear his heart pounding.

“I’m not leaving Jonny here—alone, now—if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And that’s very noble of you,” Donna says softer now, a hint of fondness in her voice. “But you know he has his own family, right? It’s not your entire responsibility to--”

“I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. I’m not leaving my job. I’m not moving back to Buffalo.”

There’s a long pause and then, “Does he know?”

Patrick practically grumbles, “Does who know what?” Jonny almost smiles.  He can only imagine how petulant Patrick would have been as a kid.

“Does Jon know how you feel?”

There’s another long-suffering sigh before Patrick answers. “This hasn’t exactly been the greatest time to have that conversation.”

“Okay, but let me ask you this, if Jon got a job offer in Winnipeg, now or after he graduated law school, do you think he’d stay for you?”

It’s a good five-count before Patrick answers his mother’s question. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should find out.”

Jonny doesn’t wait any longer. He quietly slips out the door as Patrick is saying goodbye to his mom.

 

***

 

He has a shit day at work. He’s had some pretty shitty days at work, but usually for good reason. Never because he’s just distracted.

First he spills his first and only cup of coffee for the day all over his desk, shorting out his keyboard. It takes over an hour for IT to come bring him a new one and by then he’s scrambling to send off an important document that his boss had asked him to send out “right away” three hours ago. In his rush, he sends a very confidential document to the wrong email. Thankfully it only ends up at some in-firm clerk’s inbox and no harm is done, but Jonny knows he’s walking on thin ice.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he mutters under his breath after the whole debacle gets sorted out. He’s shocked he’s still employed by lunch.

Patrick and Donna’s conversation from that morning is playing on loop in his head. It sounded like Patrick wasn’t going to be mother-guilted into moving back to Buffalo, but it was the exchange after that has Jonny on edge all day. What was it that Patrick had to tell him? Could it be the reason for his sudden depression? Is Jonny the reason? Maybe Patrick wants some space and is too good of a guy to ask for it?

“Ugh,” Jonny groans, bracing his elbows on either side of his new keyboard and cradling his head in his hands. He knows he has to broach the subject, he’s just not sure how to do so without telling Patrick that he was creepily eavesdropping this morning.

At the very least he has a pizza order coming that is sure to bring a smile to Patrick’s face. Jonny leaves a little early, which he knows is pushing his luck with the day he is having, but he doesn’t want to be late picking up their dinner.

It takes so much longer without a car, but eventually Jonny does make it back to the apartment with two small, lukewarm pizzas in-hand and a fresh coat of snow over his head and shoulders.

“What is that?” Patrick asks curiously from the couch, craning his neck to watch what Jonny is doing in the kitchen.

“Sam’s,” Jonny announces.

Patrick gets to his feet. “Sam’s Pizza?” he asks, rounding the couch and plopping onto the nearest barstool. His energy is obviously still at an all-time low because Jonny’s pretty sure that, any other time, Patrick would be leaping around the apartment with excitement.

“Yeah.”

Patrick frowns. “Can you even eat that?”

“Turns out while we’ve grown up, Sam’s has too.” Jonny taps the box to his right which contains his pizza. “They now make a gluten free option.”

Patrick grins and pulls the other box across the counter towards him. “What made you think of this?”

“I don’t know,” Jonny lies. “Felt like pizza.”

“You?” Patrick manages around his first mouthful. “Felt like pizza?”

Jonny smiles sheepishly. “I thought you might want some too.”

“This is…awesome. Thanks, man.”

Jonny feels the knot in his chest loosen just a touch. He comes around to Patrick’s side of the counter and sits on the other barstool, offering him a plate. He’s waved off. Jonny pushes the two plates away. The fewer dishes the better, he has come to realize, even if it makes them feel like frat boys.

“Well, you’ve seemed a little…” Jonny doesn’t quite know how to end that sentence. He doesn’t want to say depressed. That might be too much right out of the gate.

“Flu-ridden?” Patrick offers.

Jonny chuckles, picking at his crust. “Yeah, that too,” he concedes. “No, just…down. I was thinking this might be a nice change. Cheer you up a bit.” He cautiously glances to the side. Patrick’s staring at him thoughtfully, processing.

Finally Patrick looks away, lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Jonny. I didn’t mean to make you—”

“No, Kaner. Stop.” Jonny says quickly. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Patrick nods down at his pizza. “I’m seeing a psychologist,” he blurts out.

Jonny wasn’t expecting that. “Oh. Ok. That’s um…” He scratches his head, forces his thoughts into a row. “Do you mind me asking why?”

Patrick lets the remains of his first slice of pizza fall back into the box and wipes his hands together. “This may come as a shock to you, seeing as how you’re intent on taking this whole cancer thing by the horns and murdering it, but maybe unlike you, I’m having a really hard time with this.”

“Oh.” A spike of fear stabs Jonny in the gut. He has to compose his thoughts before talking again. “Kaner, I didn’t… Is it… Do you want me to go spend some time at my parents’? I don’t want you to think you have to be around all the time to help me through this shi—”

“I’m not having a hard time with _you_ , you fucking idiot,” Patrick interrupts, practically spitting the words out. “I’m having a hard time with the fact that my best friend has a scary-rare form of cancer and I don’t know what’s going to happen to him.”

Jonny swallows thickly. “Kaner…” Jonny starts, but he can’t find the words to finish. Instead he places his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck and squeezes. “I wish I could make it better,” Jonny practically whispers.

Patrick shakes his head. Eventually he takes a deep breath and looks back up at Jonny. “I think you should come see the therapist with me.”

The knot tightens again and Jonny feels like a trapped animal. First his mother and now Patrick…

“It really does help, and you should really talk to someone. Just come with me, okay? She can talk to both of us.”

Patrick’s blue eyes are swimming in unshed tears and dammit if Jonny’s going to say no.

“Okay.”

“Yeah? Really?”

“Yes, Kaner, really. If you think it will help, I will go with you.”

Patrick nods, starts back into his pizza. They’re silent for a moment then Patrick asks, “How’s Sam?”

“He’s fat.”

Patrick throws his head back and laughs. “Good to know.”

***

Jonny never used to be late for anything. He was always early. Early for work. Early for school. Early for appointments. Not anymore.  He's turned into the biggest fucking slacker over the past few months and he doesn't even apologize anymore.  

Today he’s limping into his chemo appointment 20 minutes late, with his laptop that has two papers on it that are also late. One can’t even be called a paper yet as it’s only a title page. He’s on a fucking roll.

He walks into the room and braces himself for the inevitable old-man chirping. He has to stop and back up to make sure he has the right room, then look around to make sure he’s on the right floor. The room is empty.

“Hey,” a friendly voice says, coming up behind him. Karen, his usual nurse, smiles and waits for Jonny to walk through the door before following.

“Hi,” Jonny responds, confused. “I thought I was late…”

“You are,” she confirms, patting his chair, encouraging him to sit.

“Where are Chuck and Mike?”

Karen busies herself preparing Jonny’s meds, then pulls up a chair to start the IV.

“Karen?”

She places a warm hand on the inside of Jonny’s wrist, smiling sadly at him.

Jonny stomach clenches. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, Jon. Chuck passed away this morning.”

He knows she’s still talking to him, but his ears are buzzing loudly. He must nod in the right spots because she smiles back kindly.  Eventually she leaves and Jonny’s alone with his IV and whirling mind.

No papers get written. Jonny doesn’t even make a move for his backpack. After 45 minutes he gets a text from Mike confirming the news, saying he’ll let Jonny know of the funeral arrangements if he’s interested in coming.

Yes, Jonny answers back.

Patrick is parked and waiting in his usual spot when Jonny is done.

“How’d it go?” he asks, shifting the car into gear as Jonny gets settled.

“Chuck’s dead,” Jonny responds bluntly.

Patrick shifts the car back into park. “God, Jonny. I don’t even—”

“It’s okay. Can we just…go get a drink or something?”

“You want to go drinking? Now?”

Jonny nods brusquely.

Patrick is the best, because he doesn't even hesitate.  “Okay, sure. We can go grab a drink or two.”

***

They’re not drunk. They’re pleasantly buzzed. Jonny knows this is likely frowned upon by 10 out of 10 medical professionals, but he can’t find any part of him that gives a rat’s ass. Patrick, to his credit, hasn’t said anything about calling it an afternoon and heading home after the first three drinks. Instead he’s been a very supportive, post-chemo, drinking buddy wingman.

“Since when do you drink that?” Jonny asks, eyeing the imported beer the waitress just brought Patrick.

“Alex turned me onto it. It’s good. Wanna try?”

Jonny scrunches up his nose and leans back. He’s pushing his luck with the alcohol, he’ll at least avoid the gluten.

“What’s the deal with you and Alex anyway.”

Patrick takes a long sip. “No deal.”

“I know. Why?”

“She’s not my type.”

Jonny keeps pressing. “You seemed pretty into her when you met her.”

“Yeah, as a pick up. I don’t want to…”

“What? Date her?”

Patrick shrugs, grins, takes a swig of his beer.

“You’re an asshole,” Jonny says, laughing lightly.

“I’m sparing her feelings! How does that make me an asshole!”

“Oh, you’ll sleep with her but you won’t date her!”

Patrick points at Jonny. “If you recall, I didn’t actually end up sleeping with her.”

Jonny bites his bottom lip.

Patrick kicks his ankle under the table. “Stop it. I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. Besides,” he continues before Jonny can say anything, “Alex is too cool to be a hook up.”

Jonny nods. “She is pretty cool.”

Patrick picks at the corner of the label on his beer. “I mean, now that Kelsey’s out of the picture, if you want, I guess, you know…you could date her?”

Jonny frowns.

“Only if you want. You two seem to get along and like you said, she’s a cool girl…” Patrick sputters.

“Are you trying to set _me_ up with Alex?” Jonny finally asks.

“No! God, no! I just thought, you know, if you’re interested…”

“I’m not, Kaner.” Jonny couldn’t even imagine starting a new relationship right now. Who would be crazy enough to want to start dating him now, anyway?

“Oh. Okay.”

Jonny tilts his head, trying to figure out what the hell going on. “I don’t get you.”

Patrick shrugs, balls up the strip of label he has just pulled from his bottle, rolling it slowly between his thumb and index finger.

“Why don’t _you_ want to date Alex?” Jonny asks.

Patrick opens his mouth then closes it. He tosses the abused piece of label onto the table then starts rolling his empty beer bottle between his palms.

Jonny’s about to prompt him again and Patrick abruptly sits back in his chair, drops his hands limply at his sides and with wide blue eyes locked on Jonny’s he says, “I’m gay.”

Jonny waits for a second, then once he’s sure he has heard correctly, he waits a second longer just in case Patrick is fucking with him. But when he gets nothing except an increasing anxious looking Patrick on the other side of the table, he forces saliva back into his mouth so that he can say something and get that look off of Patrick’s face as soon as fucking possible.

“Okay,” Jonny says clearly, nodding once.

Patrick’s eyebrows raise a little.

“Yeah, Kaner,” Jonny assures him, leaning forward. “It’s okay. Calm down. Breathe, please.”

There’s an audible, shaky breath. “I don’t know why I just told you that,” Patrick says, picking at a fingernail.

Now Jonny’s really confused. “Why not? It’s true, right?”

“Yeah! But your friend just died, you just had chemo, we’re drinking, this isn’t how I wanted to…” He’s breathing a little faster now and Jonny can see a panic attack coming from a mile away. Hell, he’s become the king of them over the past several months.

“Kaner,” he says softly, grateful that it’s three in the afternoon and they practically have the whole place to themselves. “Kaner. Patrick!” he says more sternly when the first two get no response. Patrick gasps a little, looks up at that.

“It’s okay, okay? I knew something was up. Alex had kind of said something and your mom--”

“My mom?!”

Jonny scratches his eyebrow and tries not to look too guilty when he says, “I kind of heard you the other day on the phone with your mom. Something about a job in Buffalo?”

“Jesus,” Patrick mutters, shaking his head, but at least he’s breathing a little easier. He goes to start in on the beer label again but Jonny grabs his hand and holds it firmly in his own.

Patrick stares at it for a moment, and when Jonny gives it a squeeze he hesitantly looks up to meet his gaze. “I don’t care if you’re gay or straight or bi or…I think that’s it? I don’t know.” Patrick laughs slightly at that. “I am a little pissed you felt like you couldn’t tell me before, and we’ll chat about that another time, but, Kaner, it just doesn’t matter, okay? You’re you,” Jonny says with a small shake of his hand, “and that’s all I give a shit about.”

Patrick’s hand squeezes back from between Jonny’s fingers. He whispers, “Thank you.”

***

They don’t even talk about Patrick’s revelation after that afternoon. Things are just…normal. To be honest, Jonny doesn’t even think about it much. He might have mulled it over a little more if he didn’t have a mountain of homework and two massive papers due over the next two days. Then Mike sends him a text letting him know that Chuck’s funeral is on Monday and Jonny has no idea how he’s going to squeeze that in but he knows he has to.

Stress and workload end up overriding the fact that his best friend just dropped a bomb on him and he should probably have a million questions. Patrick, to his credit, doesn’t seem at all irritated that Jonny hasn’t started into 21-questions of his gay love life just yet. In fact, they just roll right back into what is presently considered normal for them, which currently includes Jonny suffering through his post-chemo illness while trying to write at least one paper.

“What the hell are you doing?” There’s a Patrick-shaped silhouette in his doorway. Jonny holds a hand up to his desk light so he can see his Patrick’s features.

The thing is, Jonny’s not sure. Writing a paper? Not really. More like staring at his screen. He’s been writing and rewriting the same sentence for the past two hours. He’d love nothing more than to just give up, roll his desk chair the short two feet to his bed, flop himself into the unmade mess of blankets and pillows and try not to move for days, but that’s not an option. He’s already asked for extensions on multiple papers and projects, and gotten them. If he doesn’t submit what’s due now, he’s officially screwed.

So to answer Patrick’s question, well, he simply doesn’t. He should have known that wouldn’t go over well.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, moving forward through Jonny’s bedroom doorway, “bud, it’s three in the morning. You’ve had a rough day. Go to bed.”

Jonny surprises even himself when he says, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Patrick reaches around Jonny’s shoulders and slowly closes his laptop. Jonny doesn’t stop him. “Okay. That’s fine,” Patrick says without missing a beat. “Now go to sleep.”

“I’m so sick all the time and so tired. I can’t keep up. I’m—"

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m on board. Go. To. Bed.”

“No, Kaner, I have a paper due tomorrow but I can’t do it. I tried, but I can’t.” He looks Patrick straight in the eyes. “I threw up 12 times today. Kept track for fun. Does that sound like fun to you?” Jonny shakes his head and rubs his forehead hard with the palm of his hand. “Fuck…”

“To be fair, some of that is probably self-inflicted.”

Jonny glares at him. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his ill-advised drink-fest. Though he highly doubts four measly drinks are what made his stomach turn inside-out all day. It’s not fair that Patrick doubled his intake and barely had a headache to show for it this morning.

Patrick sighs. He looks almost as tired as Jonny feels. “Did you email your prof and explain? I’m sure they can give you an extension.”

Jonny can feel his pulse picking up, reality settling in. “This is the extension! It was due for everyone else two weeks ago.” He tries to swallow down the panic bubbling in his chest but it’s too real all of a sudden. “I can’t keep up and I can’t apply for a deferred semester now because I’ve already written midterms. If I don’t finish I’ll be out an entire semester’s worth of tuition and have nothing to show for it.”

He finds himself being spun around, Patrick’s broad hands on both his shoulders, pushing Jonny off of his chair and onto his bed. His socks are being pulled off, and he would normally protest but his mind is a little preoccupied. “This is not something you need to panic over at three in the morning after a truly shitty day,” Patrick says as he works, tossing the socks into a pile of laundry that’s already a few feet high in the corner. “Just do me a favor, all right?” Patrick pauses and Jonny feels obligated to look at him. Patrick nods and continues when their gazes connect. “Get some rest, stop worrying, and I _promise_ things won’t seem so bad tomorrow.”

***

Jonny wakes to his mattress bouncing like a trampoline. When he opens his eyes, Patrick’s lying next to him on his side, on top of the covers.

“Hi,” he says with a small smile.

“Hey,” Jonny replies, groggily rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Sadly, this is not an unusual way for Patrick to wake him up, especially if he’s bored and feels Jonny’s sleeping the day away. Today’s probably not one of those days, but judging by the way the sun is streaming into the room, Jonny’s pretty sure he has been asleep for most of the morning anyway.

“Feeling any better?”

Jonny takes stock of his body. He’s definitely not nauseated anymore, he must have slept for 12 hours which means he’s rested, but the niggling feeling of worry is starting to creep back up his chest as he starts to think about the paper he didn’t finish and the other one he has yet to start.

Patrick flicks him on his exposed shoulder. “Stop thinking so hard.”

“Sorry.” Jonny smiles, even if it’s just for Patrick’s sake. “Yeah, I feel a little better, thanks.”

“Good. I actually want to talk to you about something.” Patrick swallows thickly.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Patrick says, licking his bottom lip, which is red and swollen, which means he’s been doing that a lot today, which means he’s agitated, which makes Jonny’s stomach flip-fop. “I just hope you’re not mad, that’s all.”

“What did you do, Kaner?”

“I went to your school this morning.” Jonny’s eyebrows shoot up, but before he can ask any questions Patrick rushes on. “I spoke to a nice lady at the registrar’s office. I explained to her your situation, gave her your doctor’s name and everything. She made a few phone calls, sent a few emails…”

Jonny is suddenly very awake. He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Patrick next to him. “What DID you do, Kaner?!”

“I didn’t DO anything. But if you _want_ … I did get them to agree to defer this semester and bank your tuition until you’re done your treatment.”

Jonny knows his jaw is hanging open, but he can’t seem to form any words at the moment. He’s sitting straight up now.

Patrick mirrors him, eyes wide and earnest, almost scared as he continues, like he’s worried Jonny’s going to kick him out of the room any second. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but it’s an option. I have all the paperwork in the kitchen. You would just have to file and submit. The bad news is you’d have to redo all the work you’ve already done for those classes.”

“Oh my God,” Jonny finally says.

Patrick’s half wincing at him. “Is that a good oh my God?”

Jonny flops down on his back, runs both hands through his hair. “Yes, Kaner,” he says, smiling and finally taking a deep breath. “Yes.” He flips over on his side again. Patrick’s smiling sheepishly down at him. “Thank you,” Jonny says earnestly. “I mean, talk about overstepping your boundaries.” Patrick barks out a laugh at that. “But _thank you_.”

Patrick lays down beside him again closes his eyes. “I have to be at work in two hours. Wake me up with coffee in 45 minutes.”

Jonny laughs and shakes his head. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with my bed. I got out of it far too early this morning to help your sorry ass, you asshole.”

Jonny just huffs a laugh through his nose, grabs his phone to set his alarm for 45 minutes from now. He’s still tired. He can’t guarantee he’ll be awake. He places it between them then rolls over to face Patrick and relieve some of the pressure from his aching back.

“When did you know?” Jonny asks quietly.

“Really?” Patrick groans, peeking out through one eye. “Now?”

Jonny nods.

“I didn’t _really_ know until the end of my second year.”

“Oh!” Jonny says involuntarily and probably a bit too loudly.

“What?” Patrick almost whines.

“I… That long ago?”

“Yeah.” Patrick smiles guiltily. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I just… There have been girls.”

“Yeah, but just hook ups. Nothing serious.”

It’s true. Patrick has never had a girlfriend for as long as Jonny has known him. It’s always been just one and done.

“Why with the girls though?”

Patrick runs his tongue along his bottom lip, stares up at the ceiling. “I didn’t really think I could get what I wanted.”

“And now you do?”

“Maybe not,” he confessed, sounding a little sad. “But life is short.”

“Huh. Yeah. Okay.” Jonny can certainly appreciate that.

“Just…thanks for being so awesome about this, Jonny.”

“ _Of course_ , Kaner.”

“And have that coffee ready for me in 45.”

“Okay, bud,” Jonny chuckles, “Sure thing.”

***

Jonny really thought Patrick had forgotten about the whole joint therapy session. Or at least, he was hoping. But once Chuck's funeral is over and Jonny successfully gets his school shit sorted out, Patrick plainly informs him of their appointment.

“I have a session with my therapist tomorrow evening after work. You’re coming.”

Patrick probably knows Jonny well enough not to give him an option.

The therapist’s office is in a converted old house in Edison Park. It’s small and cozy and every room has a different type of floral wallpaper which reminds Jonny of his Grand-Mère’s bungalow in Montreal. It should be comforting and soothing but he can’t stop sweating and unless he goes shirtless, he has run out of layers to take off.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks again, for the third time since they left their apartment. Jonny knows he’s jittery and on-edge and doing a piss-poor job of hiding it. He’s not even sure what he’s freaking out about. Maybe saying something he shouldn’t. Maybe hearing something he fears.

Dr. Rundle, or Janine, as she introduces herself to Jonny when he follows Patrick into the back office, is dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and stark white running shoes. She can’t be much older than 40. Something about her makes Jonny do a double take. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. Maybe that’s her game plan, he thinks.

Patrick and Janine exchange small talk for a minute and Jonny breathes a little deeper when he sees how easily they interact. He snaps his chin up when she turns her attention to him.

“How are you doing, Jon?”

“Um… I’m okay, thanks.”

She smiles warmly. “Patrick has been very open about what you have been going through. I can’t begin to imagine how difficult that must be.”

Jonny’s ears start to warm. He knew coming in he would have to talk about himself, but it doesn’t make it any easier now.

“It’s hard,” he admits.

“How is it hard for you?” she asks, not giving an inch.

Jonny winces uncomfortably. “I can’t keep up. I’m sick all the time. I’m tired all the time. I feel so much worse than a few months ago, which I know is supposed to happen in the cycle of getting better it’s just—it’s a lot, that’s all.”

“I’m glad you’re here today, then. I’m glad you came with Patrick, too.” She smiles kindly and knowingly at Patrick. Jonny’s stomach clenches. He feels like he’s behind in class already.

“Kan—uh, Pat is probably the only reason I’m above water right now,” Jonny adds. “He’s been…I don’t know, it’s unbelievable. I owe him my life. Literally.”

Patrick releases a short burst of air through his nose. When Jonny turns his head to look at him, his eyes are closed.

“That’s wonderful,” Janine says. “Having a support system in place can make all the difference in these fights.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says under his breath.

“Patrick mentioned you are in school and that you also work part-time. That must be difficult on its own, let alone while you’re receiving treatment.”

“Uh, yeah.” Jonny laughs, though he doesn’t find it funny at all. “Too difficult, actually. I recently deferred school until I’m better and I’m only working part-time when I can. My boss has been great letting me keep my job.”

“That’s good. Are you finding it helpful, being able to focus more time on your recovery?”

Jonny thinks about that one for a second. He shifts nervously in his seat. “I don’t know. It’s nice not having to worry about school and papers and finals, but I guess it was a distraction in a lot of ways?”

Janine nods him on.

“Now I have time to actually think about how I’m feeling and sometimes I think that’s worse than just plowing through and ignoring it.”

“That’s understandable. And it’s not uncommon. Later I can give you some relaxation and coping techniques that can help your mind and body stabilize together when you feel yourself starting to think too much.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

She makes a note then shifts so that she’s facing Patrick.

“How are you feeling, Pat?”

Something about that sentence sets alarm bells off in Jonny’s head. _How are you feeling, Pat?_ A simple question. He’s not sure he’s asked Patrick that once since this whole thing started, outside of when he had the flu. And he really should have, because as much as Patrick is keeping Jonny afloat all of the time and going the extra thousand miles to make Jonny’s life as easy as possible, no one has done anything for him. It’s simple: How are you feeling, Pat? And yet it’s terrifying, because if Patrick says he can’t do this anymore, like Jonny has said numerous times over the past few weeks, Jonny might just die right here in the therapist’s office.

“It’s uh…” his voice is breathy and Jonny can tell he’s close to crying. “It’s been hard. I’m pretty scared.” He’s looking straight at Janine, who nods understandingly. His eyes are bloodshot and drowning in tears.

“What are you scared of?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him,” Patrick responds softly, but the words are like a punch to Jonny’s gut.

“How does hearing that make you feel, Jon?”

Jonny jumps a little, his heart picks up the pace and his throat goes dry. “Terrified? Guilty? I haven’t—” The tears are too close now and Jonny needs to bow his head and compose himself for a second.

Around him, no one moves. He can hear everyone breathing. The air conditioning clicks on blowing cold air directly down the back of his sweat-covered neck. He shivers involuntarily.

“You haven’t what, Jon?” Janine encourages after a short grace period.

“I haven’t asked him that. I haven’t asked him how he’s feeling. He’s been my rock, he’s seen me puke more than anyone should ever see any other human puke, he has held hot water bottles to my back and cooked me bland meals. He has been so amazing and I haven’t even asked him!”

“Jonny, it’s--” Patrick starts.

“No. It’s not okay.” Jonny says louder now, turning to look at Patrick next time him. “Do you have any idea how much I need you?”

Patrick’s face pales. He swallows hard. “I’m just doing what any--”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Yes, you’ve been amazing helping me with everything cancer-related. I mean, you rushed home to check on me because I didn’t answer a text. You paid someone to clean the apartment so that I wouldn’t get sick. You promised my mom that you’d look after me when she was worried my girlfriend would bail. But you’ve always done that shit for me. Every year during finals you bring food to my room when I’m cramming so that I remember to eat. You keep the apartment two degrees colder than you like just so that I don’t get hot. You pick my suits up off the floor and bring them to the dry cleaners for me.”

Patrick’s looking down at his hands now, but he adds a bashful, “Well, you’re a slob and you can’t go to work in wrinkled clothes…”

“You don’t even eat gluten when you’re around me in case I steal a bite!”

“I don’t mind doing that stuff,” Patrick says.

“I know that. I see that. But what do I do for you?”

“You don’t have to do anything for me, Jonny.” And he means it. He absolutely does. Jonny can see that plain as day. “Just stick around, yeah? That’s all I want.”

 

***

 

Jonny doesn’t know how to make things easier for Patrick, but he does know Patrick. He knows how to make Patrick smile, he knows what makes Patrick happy—happiest. And while some of that might have slipped by the wayside over the past couple of months, he’s going to do what he can to make it right.

“We haven’t been skating in a while,” Jonny says casually over breakfast a few days after their therapy session.

“Yeah? You feeling up to that?”

Jonny shrugs. With his back and hip making it hard to get up a flight of stairs without stopping to take a breather or two, he’s not sure how he’d be on skates but that’s not going to stop him from trying. Not for Patrick. “I’d like to get out.”

“Fair enough. We can go tomorrow morning if you want. I don’t work until Sunday.”

“I want to go to the lake.”

Patrick stops scooping the coffee into the filter and turns to look at Jonny. “The lake from school?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. Why?”

Jonny was expecting enthusiasm, not an inquisition.  He tries not to sound disappointed when he responds, “I thought it would be nice to take a road trip, go back up there for a skate.”

Patrick smiles tightly then looks away, like he’s about to protest or try to find an excuse not to go.

“I mean, we don’t have to. I know it’s a long drive. We can just go to the usual spot if you want,” Jonny backtracks.

“No,” Patrick says, smiling openly now, but Jonny can tell he’s fighting it. “It’ll be nice to go again. Been a while.”

Jonny searches Patrick’s face. “Okay. You sure?”

“Yeah!” Patrick says with more eagerness.

“Great. I’ll pick up some snacks today to take with us,” Jonny says.

He’s walking towards his room when Patrick yells after him, “Get my fucking skates sharpened too while you’re out. Not like you have anything else to do all day, you leach.”

Jonny chuckles to himself. At least some things never change.

 

***

“I guess we should have known it would be a lot colder up here…,” Jonny says absently, scanning the lake as Patrick drives along the winding road. They had planned on getting here earlier but traffic had set them back and now the sun is going down and bad planning on top of everything else means they’re going to be skating in much colder temperatures then they originally thought.

“Hmmm,” is all Patrick offers in return.

Jonny huffs against his window. It’s been a quiet drive. It’s not that Patrick won’t talk to him—he will—it’s just that Jonny has to ask specific questions to garner specific responses and the conversation comes to an abrupt halt unless Jonny works to keep it going.

They pull into the empty parking area where visitors can leave their cars. Patrick leaves the engine running while they zip up their coats and gather their mitts and hats.

“We should probably see if there’s any extra layers in the trunk,” Jonny says. “I think we’ll need it.”

Patrick nods once.

Jonny sighs, frustrated. “Is something wrong?”

For the first time since they left their apartment, Patrick turns to look at Jonny. He hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to say anything, then he finally asks, “Why did you want to come here?”

Jonny frowns. Now he’s concerned. His memories from this place are happy; he really thought Patrick felt the same way. That was the whole reason he wanted to come here: for Patrick. “I don’t know. I thought it would be fun.”

“You haven’t wanted to come here once in the past five years.” It’s a statement, not a question, yet Jonny can’t help but feel like he’s being interrogated.

“Um… I’ve thought about it, I guess, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why do it _now_ , though?”

“I don’t know, Kaner, what are you getting at?” He knows he’s started to sound irritated, but this is not what he wanted today. He wanted them to have fun. He has no idea what the hell Patrick’s problem is.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What aren’t you telling ME?” Jonny shoots back.

Patrick sighs, stares out the windshield. “What happened at your last doctor’s appointment?”

“My last… I told you about that. What does the hell does this have to do with that?”

“I guess…” Patrick shakes his head, pulls a piece of lint from the mitten resting in his lap. “I guess it just feels like you’re doing things one last time, lately.”

Jonny flinches. “What?”

Patrick speaks more quietly this time. “It’s like you wanted to come here one last time.”

“No,” Jonny says firmly.

Patrick doesn’t turn his head but his eyes are directed sideways. “No?”

“No!”

“Oh,” he says into his lap.

“I wanted to come here for you!”

Patrick squints at Jonny.

“I thought you would like it,” Jonny explains. “That session with Dr. Rundle made me realize how little I do for you and—”

Patrick starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Patrick says, still chucking, chin tucked into his chest.

“Seriously, why are you laughing?” Jonny’s starting to feel a little self-conscious.

“I’m just relieved,” he confesses, meeting Jonny’s gaze. “Thanks, though. For doing this. For me.”

Jonny blinks a few times then releases his own short laugh. “What a fucking mess,” he adds.  "I hate you a little bit right now."

“No you don't," Patrick says.  He's absolutely right.

“Whatever," Jonny says, ignoring how Patrick is being a little shit next to him, batting his eyelashes.  "Let’s go before we lose all daylight.”

The temperature continues to drop as the sun dips towards the horizon. Patrick scours the back of the trunk for anything they can put on for added warmth. He finds an oversized pair of snowmobile mitts that he hands over to Jonny and an old plaid jacket with a hole in the elbow that he shrugs on himself.

They trudge single file through almost a foot of snow towards a clearing where they can look over the lake. Jonny sidles up next to Patrick as he surveys the ice, most of which is clear except for a few drifts near the shoreline. “What do you think?” Patrick asks, setting down his bag.

Jonny follows suit. “It has to be skateable,” he says with a shrug. It’s been one of the coldest winters on record. He doesn’t think they’re at risk of falling through thin ice or anything. “It’ll be rough, though.”

Patrick continues to scan the surface, a calculating expression on his face. “Okay,” he says decisively after a few seconds.

There’s a fallen tree trunk that’s been there for as long as they’ve been coming here, and Patrick brushes the snow off so they can sit to put their skates on.

It’s a very short distance to the ice, but they have to navigate a steep bank to get there and Jonny should have realized that was going to be extremely difficult. Patrick goes first and holds a bracing hand to the center of Jonny’s chest. Jonny uses his stick as a crutch and tries not to put too much weight on his left leg.

“I’ll bring your boots down to you when we’re done,” Patrick says when they’re both on ice level, catching their breath.

Jonny taps his shoulder then takes a stride towards the middle of the lake. The ice, as predicted is rough, and it’s not easy to see the dips and cracks along the surface, but it doesn’t matter, he’ll take it slow. The houses peppering the shoreline are starting to light up as the sun makes its descent behind the western pines, casting long eerie shadows up the snowy banks. He hears Patrick’s blades cutting long, slow strokes into the ice behind him, the cold air hits his chest hard and just being here makes him feel like he’s 19 again.

***

They never used to get along. They were thrown together by a computer-generated twist of fate. A few weeks into their first semester of being dormmates, Jonny had already filed an official complaint with the University’s dormitory council. After a month, their RA—tired of their shit—threatened to quit. Patrick applied for a room transfer—twice—before Thanksgiving. They were not meant to share 200 square feet.

By Christmas, they had settled into a begrudged silence, punctuated only by weekly screaming matches that usually revolved around Patrick being too loud or Jonny not keeping his shit on his side of the room—everything compounded by the stress of Patrick missing his family and Jonny struggling with his health.

“You’ll figure it out,” Jonny’s mother would tell him in French, soothing as much as she could when all he wanted to do was rip his roommate’s head off.

But they didn’t. They couldn’t. They were too different. They had nothing in common. They didn’t care about each other. _It wasn’t working._ They made friends separately and seemed to have a mutual unspoken agreement to ignore each other as much as possible.

When they separated for Christmas break, they barely spared each other a second glance, let alone season’s greetings. The three weeks apart was like heaven for Jonny. He reconnected with his friends at home, slept well in his own bed—something that just wasn’t happening at school—and was generally more relaxed. Even his stomach leveled out a bit, which made him think his issues were more stress-related than anything else, which was unnerving and a relief all the same.

When they returned to school after the break, their entire dorm kicked off the new semester with a skating trip to a nearby lake. Everyone piled into a cold, rickety old school bus and took the hour-long drive out of town.

Patrick borrowed a couple of sticks and pucks from the athletic center and as soon as he got there, started asking around to see if anyone wanted to play. There were no takers so he stick-handled around the ice by himself. Even though everything in Jonny’s body was screaming _STAY AWAY_ , he eventually grabbed the free stick from the snowbank, skated up behind Patrick and stole the puck away.

It wasn’t immediate. They didn’t hit it off and become best friends that day. But it was the first time they shared something that was theirs and theirs alone—related to each other in a positive way.

On the way home, they sat beside other on the bus and talked hockey. Patrick was a Hawks fan, even though he was from Buffalo. Naturally, Jonny called him a traitor, said he’d never turn his back on his Jets. It was nice to see Patrick laugh. Jonny wasn’t sure he had ever seen him do that before.

“I didn’t even know you liked hockey,” Jonny mused.

Patrick shrugged. “You never bothered to ask.”

It was a starting point. It didn’t happen overnight, they still had their battles, but they had something to build off of. Somewhere along the line, things changed. They changed. They shared more than they didn’t. Jonny doesn’t remember when they went from enemies to friends, but he’s come to accept that sometimes these things just happen over time, and by the time he recognizes that something is different, he realizes that maybe things have kind of been that way all along.

 

***

 

They skate until they can’t anymore. Or until Jonny can’t anymore and Patrick makes him stop. Patrick ushers him to the snowbank, tells him to wait while he makes the journey to retrieve their boots so Jonny doesn’t have to struggle, especially after he’s expelled most of his energy. By the time they make it back up to the landing, they’re both sweaty—Jonny from just trying to get back up the hill, Patrick from trying to bear as much of Jonny’s weight as possible.

They toss their sticks by their bags and take another look out over the lake, now mostly lit by moonlight.

Patrick stuffs his bare hands into the pockets of the plaid jacket and scuffs his toe into the snow a couple of times. “I have a recurring dream about this place,” he says towards the ground.

The snow is starting to fall again, large snowflakes catching on Patrick’s eyelashes as he focuses on drawing lazy shapes in the snow with his boot.

“Yeah? What about?” Jonny asks.

“After we stopped coming here all the time, in second year?” he glances up briefly for acknowledgement—Jonny nods—Patrick sighs and squints back out at the lake. “I kept dreaming that you and I were out here, skating and shooting a puck around. And one of us shoots it into the scrub. I go to get it, and when I turn around,” he swallows hard, “you’re just…gone.”

Jonny frowns but allows Patrick to continue.

“At first, I skate around looking for you, calling your name. Then it gets dark and I still can’t find you and I start panicking, and then…then I wake up.”

Jonny blows out a breath. “That’s a crazy dream, Kaner.”

Patrick nods once, focuses his gaze downwards again. The snow continues to gather on his eyelashes. Jonny waits for more but nothing comes.

He starts to say something when he notices tears starting to trickle down Patrick’s cheeks. Patrick presses both palms firmly against his eyes and shakes.

“Kaner,” Jonny whispers, surprised and suddenly breathless. He shakes off his mitts, reaches out and grabs a fistful of the ugly plaid jacket with his right hand and pulls Patrick roughly into his chest, wrapping both arms around him tightly.

Patrick curls into Jonny’s collarbone, sobbing openly now. Jonny adjusts his grip and holds on tighter, resting his chin on top of Patrick’s wool hat.

He wants to tell Patrick that it’s okay. That it’s just a dream. That he will always be here for him. But so much of that is uncertain and possibly untrue. Instead he says, “I love you,” because he can say that and mean it. He can say that without having to take it back. It’s a truth he knows deep down in his core without question. It’s as much a part of him as anything he knows.

Patrick shakes his head against Jonny’s shoulder. “No,” he shudders. “Don’t do that,” he takes a large gulp of cold air, “for me.”

Jonny swallows thickly. And so much of the past couple of weeks start to fall into place like a perfect game of Tetris. He gets it now. What Patrick really wants. What Patrick never thought he could have.

“Hey.” Jonny puts a hand on top of Patrick’s head, slowly eases his face back. Patrick slowly looks up at Jonny through clumped eyelashes. His eyes are blood-shot, cheeks red from the cold. Jonny uses his thumb to swipe away a fresh tear.

Patrick wipes away the snot from under his nose with the cuff of his sleeve. The rest is likely on the front of Jonny’s jacket. He doesn’t care.

Their breathing falls into sync, clouds of steam merging in the small space between them with each exhale. Jonny’s heart is beating up the back of his throat. Three beats, their eyes meet. Five, Patrick closes his eyes. Seven, Jonny slides his fingers behind Patrick’s ear and into a mess of curls peeking out from under his hat.

Jonny wonders whether Patrick remembers the fights from way back when. The yelling until their voices were raw. Patrick throwing empty water bottles at Jonny’s head when he was sleeping. Jonny coming at Patrick with a pillow and threatening to punch his lights out when he stumbled in drunk at four in the morning. The “I hate yous” and “get out of my lifes.” How it all escalated and flipped around, eventually leading to this one moment. Skin on skin. Breath on breath. Two people who once tried to abolish one another and now break apart at the mere idea of living without each other.

Ten, their lips meet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. This is a tough time of year for me and finding time to write while traveling for work has been near impossible. 
> 
> I hope those who read this don't find it overwhelming. All I can say is there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Hang in there. Thanks for all the support so far. I don't know how much I deserve it, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Enjoy!

Jonny has been in relationships before. Several of them, actually. He’s good at relationships. He’s “relationship material.” Which is why he can’t figure out why he is floundering so much finding his footing these first few days with Patrick. He doesn’t think it’s because Patrick’s a guy. He feels what he feels, and aside from sex, he and Patrick have already done more relationship things together than Jonny and all his past girlfriends anyway. It’s more that it’s Patrick. Jonny wishes he could say nothing has changed between them after the trip up to the lake, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. At least, not to Jonny. Everything has changed for Jonny. Patrick…Patrick seems exactly the fucking same, which pisses Jonny off. Why should he be the only one struggling?

Mostly it’s that Jonny doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He wants to hold Patrick’s hand when they’re walking outside. He wants to run his foot up Patrick’s leg when they’re eating dinner. He wants to hug Patrick from behind when he’s brushing his teeth, nuzzling his neck. But he doesn’t do any of that, because…he’s not sure why. What if that’s not okay? What if that’s not what Patrick wants? In the years that Jonny and Patrick have been friends, Jonny has been in several relationships, but Patrick has not, so Jonny doesn’t even have a baseline as an observer.

So, while Jonny wants all of it—the mush, the sex, the bro life they already have—he mostly just wants to make Patrick happy. And he doesn’t know how to do that. Yet. He’s never wondered in any other relationship. He feels like he’s failing somehow not being able to figure this out on his own.

It drives Jonny crazy enough that two days after that fateful trip up to the lake, when he and Patrick are putting their dinner dishes away and getting ready for a Mario Kart battle, he finally asks why everything seems so status quo.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we are together…right?” Jonny cringes when Patrick smiles and waggles his eyebrows at Jonny. And that’s exactly what Jonny means. He doesn’t know how to navigate through these waters and Patrick seems perfectly fine toying with Jonny’s obviously fragile emotions. “Stop! This is what I’m talking about.”

Patrick chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head, like there’s a joke Jonny’s not getting.

“How are you just so cool about all of this? Isn’t this a little weird for you, too?”

That at least gets Jonny a sympathetic sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you. No, it’s not weird for me. But I’ve had a lot longer to get used to this than you have.”

“Okay… Have I been in a coma or something that no one told me about?”

“No, you moron. I’ve been thinking about this for…forever. You’re a newby. A seedling. A fawn finding its legs. I’ve see that constipated look on your face. It’s the same one you always have when you’re freaking out about something new.”

“I’m not freaking out!” Jonny shouts back, and yeah, he realizes that that kind of makes him sound like he’s freaking out.

Patrick shakes his head. “This is so typical of you.” Patrick knows Jonny, and he has to know a comment like that will get him nothing but anger in return.

So, now Jonny’s gone from wanting to kiss Patrick to wanting to punch him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s like…remember when you were studying for the LSATs? How completely overwhelmed you got at the beginning because you felt like you weren’t learning the information fast enough? And then you convinced yourself wouldn’t get into law school, you’d lose all your scholarship money, your life would fall apart, your parents would disown you, you’d become a bum living on the street, blah blah blah.”

Jonny tilts his head, quirks an eyebrow skeptically. “Okay, I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went. Still, what does that has to do with this?”

“It’s _exactly_ the same.” Patrick pokes Jonny in the chest. “YOU’RE exactly the same.”

Jonny must just look completely dumbfounded because Patrick continues. “Stop thinking of us as a challenge. As something you have to be good enough to win at. You can’t win this. I’m here _because_ of you, not what you can do, or how well you can do it.”

Jonny takes a step forward, bracing his left arm against the wall behind Patrick, essentially blocking him into the corner of the kitchen. They breathe into the same space for a few seconds, Jonny staring at Patrick’s lips.

“Uh…?” Patrick starts, but Jonny doesn’t wait for him to finish. Instead he interrupts by pressing through the inches that separated them until their hips are pressed firmly together. He grabs Patrick’s lower lip between his teeth and dips his knee between Patrick’s thighs, separating his legs.

Patrick snaps out of his surprised stupor and suddenly has a hand firmly behind Jonny’s neck, pulling him into a messy, somewhat violent kiss. Jonny grunts, pressing harder as he grinds his hips up and down against Patrick’s.

After several seconds of kissing and panting, Patrick gets a hand wedged between their chests and pushes Jonny away abruptly. He’s slightly out of breath, lips red and swollen. Jonny’s breath catches in his throat, his entire body fighting the urge to smack Patrick’s hand away and close the space between them again.

“What?” Jonny snaps, frustrated.

Patrick smirks up at him. “How easy do you think I am?”

Jonny frowns. “Um…pretty damn easy, from what I’ve observed.”

“Wrong,” Patrick says, ducking under Jonny’s arm and walking towards the couch, a shit eating grin on his face. He flops back into the cushions and says, “Woo me.”

Jonny’s head reels back. “ _Woo you_?”

“That’s right. I know you’re a romantic and all that shit. I’ve seen you do it all before. Make me weak in the knees, Toews.”

Well, that solves that, Jonny thinks.

Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, waits.

“Now?” Jonny asks incredulously. His jeans are far too tight at the moment for him to be writing love notes and massaging Patrick’s feet.

“Feel free to start any time,” Patrick says flippantly. He casually looks around for the remote, digs it out from between two cushions and turns the television on.

Jonny shrugs. He can play dirty too. He crawls over across the couch until he can straddle Patrick’s lap. Before Patrick can protest Jonny starts sucking on his collarbone.

“Oh, shit,” Patrick gasps.

Jonny smiles to himself as he works his way up Patrick’s neck.

“I don’t think this qualifies,” Patrick says, voice cracking.

“But you’re not complaining,” Jonny mutters against Patrick’s damp skin.

“But I’m not complaining,” Patrick confirms with a gasp.

“I’d ask if this is okay,” Jonny says, biting the underside of Patrick’s jaw, making him jump slightly. “But I don’t think I have to,” he finishes, nodding down to where their groins are pressed together.

“Shut up,” Patrick gasps. “Don’t stop.”

Jonny has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

***

Waking up with Patrick next to him feels like the most natural, healthy thing in Jonny’s life right now. It’s not the first time he’s opened his eyes to find Patrick in his bed, but this is a whole lot different. For one, they’re both under the covers. Two, they’re both naked. Three, and most importantly, Jonny thinks, Patrick’s still asleep.

Jonny hasn’t really seen Patrick sleep since they were sharing a dorm, and God knows, back then, he didn’t pay any attention. For as frenetic as Patrick’s energy can be when he’s awake—always fidgeting, chewing on something, fiddling with anything within reach—he’s the most peaceful and unmoving sleeper. He hasn’t moved an inch since he dropped off several hours ago. Jonny’s more than a little jealous. When Jonny wakes up in the morning, his bed looks like some sort of natural disaster has hit overnight.

“Are you watching me sleep, you creeper?”

Jonny laughs a little. “How do you even know that?” Patrick’s eyes haven’t opened once since Jonny started looking at him.

“I know how you breathe,” Patrick says very matter-of-factly.

“How I… _what_?”

Patrick rolls onto his side to face Jonny, finally cracking his eyes open. “You breathe differently when you’re awake than when you’re asleep. It’s hard to explain.”

“So, what you’re actually telling me is _you’re_ the creeper.”

Patrick grins. “You breathe so loud! How could I not notice?”

“Uh huh,” Jonny teases.

“And you kicked me in the shin last night, asshole.”

“Awww,” Jonny drawls sarcastically.

“I’m going to have a bruise!”

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yes,” Patrick deadpans back.

Jonny dives under the covers and starts attacking Patrick’s shins with kisses.

“You kicked me somewhere else, too,” Patrick calls out.

Jonny throws his head back and laughs. He can take a hint.

Patrick’s side of the bed gets a whole lot messier after that.

***

Jonny hasn’t actually done anything in almost three minutes. He’s still got his feet on the peddles but even with no tension set on the stationary bike’s dial, he lost almost all strength in that left leg after just 20 minutes of semi-casual pedaling. It’s frustrating, and he’d be way more upset about it if he wasn’t completely enamored with watching Patrick lift in front of him.

There’s a good amount of sweat dripping down the back of Patrick’s neck, soaking into his t-shirt’s collar and making his hair look darker and straighter than it really is. His back muscles ripple under the damp fabric as he crouches to pick up the weight. Jonny stares as Patrick spreads his broad hands across the bar, gripping strong as he lifts, holds for a few seconds, then drops the weight suddenly at his feet.

Jonny startles out of his daze when there are suddenly blue eyes locked on his, amused and twinkling. Caught in the act.

“Enjoying the show?”

Jonny gives him a seductive wink, takes a swig of his water.

“Creepy old man,” Patrick accuses as he goes to pick up his own water bottle next to Jonny’s bike.

"I'm seven months older than you," Jonny retorts.

Patrick shrugs, takes a long drink then asks, “You going to do anything other than leer at the hotties? Wasn’t this your idea?”

“Nope.” Jonny finally disengages his feet from the inactive pedals, slowly stretches his stiff leg out. “I’m done here.”

Patrick pinches his lips worriedly. “Want to try some upper-body stuff? I could set you up…”

This had been Jonny’s idea. He had been complaining that he was getting flabby and wasn’t doing anything but sitting around so he wanted to find a way to work in some daily exercise. At Patrick’s insistence, Jonny had asked his doctor about it first and he had suggested trying some yoga and light stationary bike work. Jonny had done the yoga on his own every morning before Patrick left for work and, this Saturday morning, he forced them both out of bed far too early to trek down to their apartment’s leanly equipped gym that Jonny had never seen anyone else use. Today was no exception; they’ve had the place entirely to themselves since they arrived 45 minutes ago.

Jonny really hadn’t expected it to be this difficult. Or disheartening.

“Thanks,” Jonny says, grimacing as he straightens his back, “but I think I’m going to call it a day. Don’t let me hold you back, though.”

“Fuck, no,” Patrick says. “I’ve reached my daily sweat quota.”

“Shower and nap?” Jonny asks.

Patrick pinches Jonny’s hip. “Now your speaking my language.”

***

“Oh my God, yes! Finally!”

Jonny’s eyes snap open abruptly. He grabs the back of the couch, ready to pounce, then relaxes just slightly when he notices Alex standing in the middle of the living room, arms splayed open to the heavens, a huge grin on her face.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Patrick mumbles from where he’s curled into Jonny’s chest, both of them covered to their shoulders by a thick fleece blanket. “Alex is coming over.”

“And does she have a key now?”

Patrick nuzzles is head deeper into Jonny’s t-shirt. “No, I left the door open for her. Figured we wouldn’t feel like getting up.” He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Jonny shakes his head a little. “Hey, Alex.”

“Hey yourself,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Jonny rolls his eyes. He’s too groggy for this shit.

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. I brought food and booze.”

Patrick blinks his eyes open and rolls his head towards her. “What kind of food?”

“Get up!” Jonny smacks him on the shoulder.

“Ow,” he says, dramatically rubbing were Jonny had barely tapped him and he rolls off of Jonny and the couch, stumbling towards the kitchen. “She’s right; you are grumpy.”

Alex nods in agreement, following, presumably to get this food that Jonny is starting to smell.

Something buzzes under Jonny’s ass. He digs between the couch cushions and pulls out Patrick’s phone.

“Kaner, your mom is calling you.”

Patrick’s head pops out from behind the kitchen wall, chewing something obnoxiously with his mouth open. He holds his hands out in front of his chest. Jonny lobs the phone at him then starts to get up. By the time he has folded the blanket and straightened the couch cushions Patrick is standing behind him, looking a whole lot more awake.

“What?” Jonny asks, suddenly concerned.

“She wants me to go home.”

“What? Why?”

“My grandpa isn’t doing well.” Patrick’s eyes start to fill with tears and he has to clear his throat roughly before continuing. “It’s… It’s not looking good.”

Jonny doesn’t think, he just grabs Patrick and pulls him into his chest, holding on tightly. “I’m sorry, Kaner,” Jonny whispers into his ear. Patrick nods and sniffles into his shoulder.

Jonny pulls away a few seconds later. “When are you leaving?”

Patrick roughly wipes his fingers over his now bloodshot eyes. “I’m not,” he says stubbornly, staring at a spot just above Jonny's shoulder.

Jonny squints at Patrick, who still refuses to look at him. “What do you mean…? Of course you are.”

Patrick rubs his forehead frowning like he has the worst headache in the world. “I can’t leave you. What if…” He stops, swallows, drops his hand to his side and switches to staring at his feet to staring at the ceiling, his eyes are drowning in unshed tears again.

“Whoa, hey, Kaner,” Jonny says softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward a small step. “C’mon, stop.”

Patrick shakes his head but does manage to get himself under control, finally looking Jonny in the eyes. Jonny’s almost brought to his knees by the pain he sees there. “Kaner, you _have_ to go.”

The thing about Patrick is he’s very intelligent. He’s extremely good with numbers and, though he would never brag about it, he graduated near the top of his class. Patrick may be smart, but he does stupid things sometimes. Though it’s gotten better as he has gotten older, he’s still prone to those slips in judgement. And while it’s not like it was when he was 19, Jonny still finds himself gently steering Patrick in the right direction sometimes. Missing going to see his grandfather for the one last time would absolutely kill Patrick. Jonny knows that. Deep down, Patrick knows that. Jonny’s going to make sure that doesn’t happen.

“If you don’t go, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Patrick hesitates then says, “I know,” under his breath.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll survive on my own for a week.” Jonny regrets the words the second they’re are out of his mouth because, if anything, it just makes Patrick look even more constipated.

“I’ll babysit your boyfriend while you’re gone.”

Jonny had almost forgotten Alex was here. He gives her a murderous glare. She shrugs him off, unaffected, and continues eating her salad from her perch in the doorway.

“Someone has to be here with you,” Patrick follows up, apparently appeased by Alex’s offer.

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Jonny almost shouts, looking from Alex to Patrick. “This is crazy. You’re going to Buffalo. We will talk—facetime, whatever—all you need, but I don’t need a live-in nanny.”

Patrick mutters something to Alex as he approaches her, but with his back to Jonny, the words are too hard to make out.

“I will, don’t worry,” Alex says in response.

“I can hear you, assholes.”

***

Patrick leaves on a flight to Buffalo the next morning. Jonny insists on driving him to the airport. It’s Sunday and there’s no traffic and, really, he feels like Patrick needs it. His suspicions are confirmed when Patrick grips Jonny’s hand tightly for the entire drive.

When Jonny drops him off at the curb in departures, Patrick’s breath starts to stutter in and out of his chest.

“I wish I could be there for you,” Jonny says. He can’t stand seeing Patrick this broken up, and what kind of bullshit boyfriend is he if he can’t even comfort him in his time of need?  It's just that traveling right now is out of the question.  Jonny knows he'd have a hard time with the trip, let alone all the germs he should probably avoid in a recycled-air cabin.

“Just…” Patrick places a hand on Jonny’s chest. “Just be okay, okay?”

“Come here,” Jonny says, pulling him into an awkward hug over the center console. When they separate, Patrick runs his hands up Jonny’s shoulders and neck until one palm is on each of is cheeks. He leans in and places a soft kiss on Jonny’s lips. “I love you,” he says with his eyes closed.

“Hey!” Jonny says curtly, voice low. “I fucking love you too but you gotta stop this shit.”

This is not the goodbye he wanted. He wanted a hug and a kiss and a, “See you later in the week. I’ll call!” This feels too fucking final and he can tell it’s messing with Patrick’s head.

“Now either ravage me or get out of this car because you’re depressing the fuck out of me.”

Patrick stills in shock for a second then breaks out in a grin, diving forward and pulling Jonny into a much more passionate kiss.

When they separate, out of breath, Jonny runs a hand over his mouth and says, “That’s more fucking like it.”

Patrick actually laughs, which is really all Jonny wanted.

A wink directed at the leering security guard and a wave for Jonny later, Patrick disappears into the airport.

****

It’s only been 48 hours and Jonny’s already spinning his wheels without Patrick around. Sure, they’ve been apart before for various reasons over the years, but Jonny doesn’t remember a time when he has been alone, in this apartment, for several days without Patrick. It feels empty and cavernous, which is ridiculous because the space is maybe 800 square feet, but he swears he can hear his voice echoing. He doesn’t want to bother Patrick by calling him every hour on the hour, which he is aching to do, so he calls his brother a few times, Alex, hell, he even calls his mother twice, just to talk, which he has come to regret because she leaves him messages all the time that he never returns. So now she’s freaking out for no reason.

He figures work will be a good way to keep himself busy for a while, but he only does that three days a week in the afternoons now, so he has to wait out an entire day of nothing before he gets to the opportunity of that distraction.

As soon as he gets home on Monday night, he’s shamelessly calling Patrick. He doesn’t care how clingy, desperate or dependent is makes him seem. He rationalizes that even before they got together, he and Patrick would have talked two or three times a day, easily, every day they spent apart. This is really not new.

He’s just getting settled in his bedroom and about to hit the call button when another call comes in. Sure enough, it’s Patrick.

“Hey,” Jonny says, accepting the call with a big smile. It quickly becomes apparent that the inevitable has occurred. Patrick’s eyes and nose are red, and it’s obvious he has been crying.

“Oh, no,” Jonny says sympathetically.

Patrick nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “He passed away this afternoon.”

“I’m so sorry, Kaner.”

Patrick nods, takes a deep, shaky breath. “I got to see him though. Thank you. For making me come.”

Jonny curses the fact that he can’t reach through the screen and pull Patrick into his arms. “When’s the funeral?”

Patrick wipes at the snot under his nose with his sleeve and Jonny tries his hardest not to cringe. “Sounds like Thursday at the latest. I’m going to book my flight home for Friday. I love my family but…” Patrick makes a low whistling noise.

Jonny chuckles softly.

“I miss you,” Patrick says.

“God, I miss you too,” Jonny replies in one breath.

Patrick gives him a watery smile. “So, distract me. Tell me about your week so far.”

Jonny smiles back, he can’t not. “Alex came over yesterday. She said it was because she left her bracelet here on the weekend. I don’t know how stupid you guys think I am…”

Patrick laughs out loud at that one.

“Whatever, I wasn’t going to turn away the company. We had dinner and watched a movie.”

Jonny continues to ramble about anything he can think of. Anything to keep Patrick smiling and talking and joking around. After about ten minutes, Jonny’s surprised by his own yawn.

“Nice tonsils,” Patrick comments.

“Sorry, caught me off guard,” Jonny admits sheepishly. He probably shouldn’t skype in bed. All he wants to do is sleep all of a sudden.

“Are you okay? You’re kinda pale.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. God knows why. I do nothing all day.”

Patrick looks unconvinced, which makes Jonny feel guilty. He makes a mental note to skype standing up in the living room next time. There’s a sudden burst of sound coming from Patrick’s end of the call, and someone flies through the screen so fast that Jonny can’t tell who it is. Maybe one of his sisters.

“Go spend some time with your family,” Jonny insists.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes! I’m fine. I’m gong to take a nap. Like a fucking toddler. Go!”

Patrick stares hard for a few seconds then concedes. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. I could use a break from this nuthouse.”

“Sure,” Jonny agrees all too willingly.

“I love you,” Patrick says, much more casually than he did at the airport, which Jonny takes as a victory.

“I love you, too.”

***

 

The next two days are sheer torture for Jonny. For one, Patrick is so busy helping with funeral arrangements and catching up with his extended family that Jonny’s lucky if they get to text each other once or twice, let alone see each other on a screen. It turns out not to be such a bad thing because Jonny wakes up Wednesday morning and something’s just…wrong. At first he thinks it’s just that he’s stiff and a good yoga session and some stretches will work it out. But after an hour of trying to manipulate his body into cooperation, he somehow feels worse than he did before. He doesn’t know quite how to explain it to his doctor when he calls but “weak” is the only adjective that seems to fit. His doctor tells him to rest, take one of the stronger painkillers and to come into the clinic if he feels dizzy or feverish. By lunchtime Jonny’s so sore, exhausted and encumbered by a headache that he has to call out from work.

He sleeps away most of Wednesday afternoon and evening and Patrick’s too busy with a family dinner to skype anyway so they just text back and forth before bedtime.

Unfortunately, Thursday doesn’t offer anything better. Jonny doesn’t get out of bed much at all. He wants to, but when he moves around or bears too much weight on his left side, the pain takes his breath away and leaves him lightheaded. Even a short trip to the bathroom or kitchen makes sweat pour down his spine. He pops a dilaudid and prays that when he wakes up in a few hours he will be able to walk.

***

There’s ringing. So much ringing. Over and over. It stops for short intervals but always starts up again. And again, and again. Jonny doesn’t know how long it takes for him to register what’s actually happening, but finally something in him wakes enough to feel around to the right of his pillow until he finds his phone.

“Lo?” he croaks out into the receiver.

“Fuck, Jonny! Thank God! I’ve been calling you for hours!”

Jonny squeezes his eyes shut tightly then opens them. Once the bright colors stop bouncing around in front of him he is able to see the numbers on his alarm clock well enough to determine that it’s 4:34. In the afternoon. Huh.

“Yeah, sorry.” He clears his throat, tries not to sound so freaking groggy. Patrick’s losing his shit already; he doesn’t need any more ammunition. “Fell asleep.”

“All afternoon? What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Um…” Jonny rubs deep circles into his forehead with his free hand. Patrick is in Buffalo. Patrick can’t help him. Jonny just needs to get through the next 24 hours and then Patrick will be home and he can… Jonny doesn’t even know. Somehow, things will be better with Patrick here. “I’m okay. How was the funeral?”

There’s a long pause before Patrick speaks again. “What’s going on? You’re slurring.”

Jonny sighs, tries to force himself further awake. He props his left elbow under him and carefully levers his upper body off the mattress. “I took a pill because I was sore,” he admits. “I’m a little groggy.”

Again there’s a long pause and all he can hear is Patrick breathing. “I don’t… Do you want me to call Alex?”

“No,” Jonny says immediately. “Patrick, stop. It’ll be okay. I just took a pill. That’s what you or Alex would have made me do.” It’s not untrue. Of course he doesn’t say, “It’s never been this bad before.” Or, “I’m actually a little scared.” Because what fucking good would that do? He called his doctor, he followed orders. When Patrick gets home, Patrick can hover. Until then, he can’t do anything so why the fuck would Jonny make him worry any more?

“You sure?”

“Yes. You’ll be home tomorrow. You can smother me then.”

“I’m going to see if I can get on the redeye tonight,” is all Patrick says.

For some reason, Jonny doesn’t argue with him.

***

Jonny wakes in the middle of the night, convinced he has been hit by lightning. Maybe he moved the wrong way in his sleep, maybe it was a dream, but that doesn’t explain why he’s still shaking as wave after wave of what feels like electricity continues to rip through his spine and down his left leg. He bites down on the edge of the pillow to keep from screaming out and forces himself to breathe as deeply as he can manage, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Finally, the pain ebbs to a manageable level, but he’s still shaky and sweaty and more than a little nauseated.

He’s scared to move, but the thought of waking up like that again is enough to force him from bed and to the kitchen where he can take another pill to at least knock him out until Patrick gets home.

Getting out of bed is easy enough, but after getting only halfway down the hall his vision starts to swim and he knows he’s not going to make it to his destination. He braces a hand against the wall and slowly lets himself slide down to the ground. His breaths are coming in gasps now and he knows that sooner, rather than later, his stomach is going to rebel. Still, all he can think of is getting to his phone. It’s on his nightstand. He can picture it clear as day. It might as well be in another country.

Once he has caught his breath, the pain starts to recede again, and he actually considers just staying here. Waiting. Not moving until someone finds him. But no matter how much agony he’s in, all he can think is, _I can’t do that to Patrick_.

So he starts to crawl back to his room. It’s not perfect, far from it, but it’s better than trying to walk. He gets just inside his bedroom door when his vision whites out completely and it’s simply by feel that he manages to find the trash can he keeps next to his desk. He pulls it under his chin just as his stomach gives and it’s all he can do not to just break down sobbing right there.

This is not fair, he thinks as he chokes to breathe. Not, fucking, fair.

It must be 10 or 15 minutes before he can function enough to finish the last 10 feet and retrieve his phone.

A few short swipes later it’s mercifully ringing and a very sleepy voice answers.

“Alex?” he asks hopefully.

“Jon?” She’s suddenly much more awake.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

There’s a lot of noise on the other end, sheets rustling, a loud bang of a drawer closer. “I’m coming. Hold on. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

Jonny drops his forehead onto the carpet. “No.”

“I’m coming, Jon. Okay? Hold on.”

“I can’t… I can’t let you in," he says, realizing that there's no way he's going to get to the door to unlock it.

“Pat gave me a key. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

The line gets disconnected and Jonny lets the phone drop onto the carpet next to his head. He can’t believe this is happening. This shouldn’t be happening. He couldn’t even make it one fucking week without Patrick.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he starts struggling to breathe. If Patrick weren’t in his life, he’d be okay with dying right now.

***

He keeps reaching around and trying to find his phone to turn off his alarm. It’s so annoying. Just a beep, beep, beep that won’t stop. But every time, someone grabs his hand and holds it still and then he forgets about it and falls asleep again.

This happens over and over again until finally, when he’s blindly patting around his bed for his phone, his hand lands in a mess of hair. He’d know that hair anywhere. Short, curly, slightly frizzy.

“Kaner,” he groans involuntarily. His mouth is so dry, he can’t even swallow. He tries to anyway but all that results in his throat sticking together and he coughs, which only makes everything worse.

The hair slips away from under his hand. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey.”

When he opens his eyes he quickly realizes he’s not at home. He’s in a dimly lit hospital room with a little window in the corner. Patrick’s right there next to him, holding a straw up to his lips.

Jonny frowns but accepts the straw and sucks back a good amount of cool water which goes a long way to helping him feel human again.

He lifts a hand to rub his eyes but there’s wires everywhere. inhibiting his movement. He stares down at them blankly. He has no idea what is going on. It’s like he’s trying to navigate through a thick fog and he can’t make out the pieces.

Finally, there’s a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” Patrick says again. Jonny turns to look at him, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he had been in a coma for 10 years, because that’s how much older Patrick looks. “It’s so good to see you awake,” is all Patrick says when their eyes meet.

Jonny squints back. Maybe he was in a coma?

All his brain can formulate as a response is, “I was asleep?” his voice is so rough it squeaks in places.

Patrick huffs out a short, humorless breath. “Yeah. For a couple of days.”

Days? Jonny doesn’t even know where to start. “Am I okay?”

“No,” Patrick responds in almost a whisper. “But you’re alive, and I’m going to make sure they do everything humanly possible to keep it that way.”

A flash of what must have been a couple of nights ago floods over Jonny. Lying on the floor, calling Alex, somewhat fuzzy memories of lights and sirens. With it comes a more muted sense of the pain, headache and nausea that he felt that night--still present but dulled now by the drugs they must have him on, he realizes.

“Fuck,” Jonny groans.

Patrick gathers up Jonny’s hand in his own and kisses the back of it.

“I’m so sorry,” Jonny croaks.

Patrick’s so pale, and he looks like he’s dropped 10 pounds. With everything that’s gone on in the past week, Jonny wouldn’t be surprised to find out that’s the case.

“Shhhh,” Patrick hushes him.

“My parents,” Jonny says for some reason.

“Are here,” Patrick finishes.

“They’re here?”

“They flew in yesterday morning.”  

That can't be good, Jonny thinks.  He must be dying.  

“What’s wrong with me?” he asks hesitantly.

Patrick settles back down into his chair next to the bed but still doesn't let  go of Jonny's hand.  His thumb moves slowly back and forth over Jonny's knuckles.  “You’re going to need surgery.”

“What kind of surgery?”

Patrick’s eyes well up for the first time since Jonny woke up.  “The chemo isn’t working. The cancer is growing. Your spine and hip are severely compromised. They need to go in and do some sort of resection.”

Jonny waits. If it were that simple, they would have done this in the first place.

“It’s risky,” Patrick adds eventually.

“How risky?” 

Patrick keeps his voice from breaking but it wavers when he says, “You’ve got a 50/50 shot of surviving the surgery.”

Jonny lets that wash over him. His life comes down to the odds of a coin toss.  He's immediately nauseated.  That's can't be right.

“You’re going to make it,” Patrick says stubbornly. “I can’t live without you,” he stutters somewhat hysterically with a sniffle. “So that’s it. You have to be here.”

Jonny nods numbly. Between this and the drugs he feels like he’s suspended in space and will never find his footing again.

“Will I walk again?”

Patrick glares at him. “ _Walk_?! One fucking step at a time,” he raves through his tears.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Jonny says calmly, a direct juxtaposition to the display of emotions going on in front of him. “After this surgery, when I can walk again, we get married.”

Patrick’s face goes red. And if Jonny didn’t fully trust him, he’d swear he was about to get cold clocked.

“Walking?! Married?! You have to fucking _live_ first.”

“Yep,” Jonny responds, calm despite every emotion raging through him. “And when I get out of surgery, I'll learn how to walk again. Once I learn how to walk again, we’ll get married. Understood?”

Patrick’s still breathing fast, chest rising and falling rapidly, but the color in his face is slowly receding back to the pale white it was before he got so upset. He brings shaking hands up to his face and wipes away snot and tears. Finally, he looks at Jonny and says, “Okay. Yeah. Deal.”

Jonny wrinkles his nose. “Deal? That’s how you accept my marriage proposal?”

“It’s not like you got down on one knee, asshole,” Patrick shoots back, but it doesn’t stop him from bending down and kissing Jonny deeply.

When they separate, Patrick hovers just above so that their noses are almost touching, eyes closed, hand still on Jonny’s cheek and whispers, “Be okay.”


End file.
